


Glass Sandcastles

by 234am



Series: If the Light Takes Us [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, OC NPCs (for flavor), Post-Canon, made up backstories, optional smut in separate chapters with warnings, saving the world (again), slow build plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 187,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12115011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/234am/pseuds/234am
Summary: They saved the world, but the planet still needs help. He launched a rocket and landed his dream job, but he's still not satisfied. Cid Highwind wonders when life will start making sense. At least Vincent Valentine is still the same as ever, right?





	1. the river bend

**Author's Note:**

> Revisiting the original OTP for the US 20th anniversary.

Some hundred miles north of Cosmo Canyon, a great rift in the earth laid open, the lifestream of the planet sluggishly pouring out. Cid Highwind stood at the lip of the canyon, looking down at the glowing stream pensively. He chewed on the filter of a cigarette he had no intention of smoking. Behind him, the Mini Bronco's engines ticked softly as they cooled.

He was alone with nothing but his trusty spear, a handful of potions clinking in his pockets, a battered lighter, and a nearly empty pack of cancer sticks. And more dynamite than legally conscionable for one man to possess, packed tight in brown paper inside a leather pack at his feet.

The planet let out a low, mournful wail, vibrating deep in his bones.

"Yeah, yeah, hold ya horses."

Cid stooped, hauled the pack's straps onto his shoulders, and then hopped down into the canyon. He leapt from one precarious ledge to the next, working his way down deeper and deeper. About halfway down, he found a crack in the wall, just above the freely flowing river of lifestream. Inside, he could just make out a sloped path leading further down.

"Well, shit, here we go," he muttered, dragging a gloved hand through his short blond hair.

If Cloud were here, they'd have already moseyed on in, heedless of danger. Cid eased in a little more cautiously, the sharp tip of his spear held out before him. Who knew what kind of freakish monsters lurked around the planet's wounds.

Thankfully, the tunnel was empty. It went on for about thirty feet, then opened up to a narrow ledge sticking out over a bubbling pool of lifestream far below. Cid looked around, working his cigarette from the right to left.

The cavern seemed... new. There were no stalagmites or stalactites, and the walls seemed too uniformly flat. Someone had dug this out, and recently. On the left side of the ledge, someone had tied off the ends of a rope ladder.

"Shit."

ShinRa had long ago given up aspirations of harvesting the lifestream for mako, focusing instead on alternative means of power. They didn't even dabble in oil, preferring to research more eco-friendly options, like wind or water. Cid still didn't think much of them, but he couldn't honestly say that Rufus punk would do anything like this ever again.

That didn't mean there weren't other companies that thought they could pick up where the old guard had left off...

Stuffing his mangled cigarette in a pocket to be disposed of later, Cid slung his spear through the loops at his back, careful not to catch it on the pack. Then he swung down the rope and began the slow, precarious climb down.

The further down he got, the hotter and more humid the cavern became. By the time his feet touched solid ground again, he was wheezing faintly, and his shirt stuck to his back, soaked through with sweat. He turned in place, keeping one hand on the rope ladder.

Across the pool, a small piece of machinery sat crookedly, its lights flashing red. Cid eased his way around the edge of the pool, mindful that the stream could rip him to pieces. It wasn't like the planet would know what the red ribbon tied tight around his bicep meant.

As he neared the machinery, he saw that it was a portable drill, the kind that could be folded up and fit into a bag. Shera's team had used several while testing the soil around Rig 0008. The drill itself had been detached and tossed aside, likely because it had been worn down to a mangled nub. Without a drill attachment, the machine alternated between flashing red lights and emitting an obnoxious warbling alarm.

There were no other signs that anyone else had been there. Whoever had excavated the cave and broken through to the lifestream was long gone.

"Some goddamn idiots hurt ya bad, huh?" Cid mused aloud, as the ground shook underfoot. "An' then they took off, leavin' ya to bleed out. Shit! Alright, alright, hang on."

He circled around to the back of the machine and knelt. There was a panel there, easily popped open to reveal old mako batteries. Cid banged his fist against the side, forcing the batteries to fall out. He huffed out a relieved sigh as the noise stopped.

"Okay, sweet pea, let's blow this joint."

Cid bounced up to his feet, shrugging the pack off. He flipped the top open, retrieving the first bundle of dynamite. He tossed it up and down a few times, unbothered by the very real possibility of it blowing up in his face.

"Should've brought some damn ties or somethin', stick this shit up by the ceiling..."

He'd have to make do. He wedged the first bundle into the crack beneath the portable drill, drawing the knotted fuse out from the paper. He unwound it, laying it carefully behind him as he retraced his steps around the pool. Every few feet, he stopped to plant more dynamite, winding the fuses together. All told, he put a little over half of the dynamite at the bottom of the cavern.

The rest, he took with him up the rope ladder. At the top, he planted a small bundle at the tip of the ledge, and the rest were scattered throughout the tunnel on his way out. He didn't have nearly enough to take care of the whole canyon, but with any luck, he'd plug the bleeding hole and the planet could take care of itself.

Cid tapped a cigarette out of his pack, clamped it between his teeth, and dug his lighter out. With practiced ease, he flicked the cap and brought the little flame to the tip of the cigarette. He tipped his head back, looking skyward, and took a moment to enjoy the nicotine, inhaling deeply. The calm that came before doing something reckless settled over him.

He exhaled. Smoke curled up in a lazy spiral, drifting away. Then he snapped the lighter shut, stowing it away, and knelt to use the tip of the cigarette to light the fuse. It sparked immediately, and began its slow creep towards the dynamite.

Cid didn't linger to watch it. He was already moving, leaping back up the sides of the canyon.

The first explosion came not long after. He stumbled, nearly slipping off a jutting rock as it began to crumble underfoot. Quickly, he leapt forward, not giving himself enough time, and overshot the next ledge entirely. He yanked his spear out from its loops, jamming it into the nearest wall to slow his fall.

"Fuck!"

The next explosions came rapid fire, shaking the whole canyon. Cid could feel his spear already beginning to slip. He kicked his feet to swing his weight back and forth. On the third swing forward, he let go of the spear and tumbled through the air gracelessly. He hit the ground running, twisting his right ankle, stumbling, but there was no time to slow down, not when the whole canyon felt like it was shaking apart beneath him.

Huge boulders smashed into the ledge ahead of him, taking out a huge gap. Cid skidded to a stop, scrambling to keep from sliding right off the edge.

"Shit, shit, shit--"

The next safe spot to land was too far away, even for him. He looked back, saw that his path had deteriorated. The earth gave a particularly violent shake and an entire wall of the canyon began to break apart, collapsing inwards.

Cid twisted around, looking up at the canyon wall to his right. He began to climb, clumsily seeking out handholds and clinging desperately to the rock every time it trembled.

The planet let out a horrible wail, lifestream erupting upwards in wildly flailing tendrils. Cid's hand slipped, missing the next handhold, and suddenly he was falling--

Crimson filled his vision.

A huge, tattered cloak, flapping in the wind as its owner knifed through the air, gold talons extended. Cid blinked, sucking down air, and reached up. The talons closed around his wrist, pulling, and then he was flying up through the air, spinning wildly and trying to get his bearings.

He hit the ground near the _Mini Bronco_ , feeling something snap, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the panic because that was--

"Vince!!"

Cid rolled, wheezing, to his knees, and limped towards the canyon's edge. Far down below, he saw a streak of red darting almost too fast to see from one falling chunk of rock to the next.

They needed to get out of here. Trusting that Vincent could get to the surface on his own, Cid hobbled back to the _Mini Bronco_. He yanked the door open, slumped into the seat, and hastily began flicking switches, powering the engines up and getting the propellers spinning.

Vincent jumped out from the canyon and swept gracefully towards the _Mini Bronco_ , not even slowing as he reached the door, slamming it shut. Between one blink and the next, he was on top of the plane, rapping knuckles at the top of the windshield to let Cid know he was ready.

The _Mini Bronco_ lifted off just as the earth began to crumble beneath it. Cid pulled hard on the yoke, swinging the little plane away from the grasping tendrils of the lifestream. He circled around the devastation, swearing at himself under his breath--how could he be so damned stupid? He'd not helped at all!

Then he saw it, the lifestream pulling all the loose rocks inward, filling up the canyon, closing the wound at last. He let out a ragged breath.

"Sorry, sweet pea,” he said, like maybe the planet could comprehend the sentiment.

Cid turned the _Mini Bronco_ north, watching the dust settle in his rear view mirror.

He had to stop about an hour later, as his vision began to double, the pain lancing up his side too great to ignore. Not even a potion had taken the edge off. His landing was rougher than it needed to be, hitting the ground hard and rattling. The plane jerked to a stop just short of smashing into a copse of trees.

Cid slouched in his chair, eyes closed, and willed his head to stop spinning. He twitched when the door was yanked open.

"Highwind."

"Hey, Vince." Cid squinted one eye open, regarding the pale man in black and red.

Vincent sighed, and said nothing else. He leaned forward, undoing the seat buckles, and pulled Cid from the plane. Cid staggered, and would have fallen over if not for Vincent catching him, holding him upright as if he weighed nothing at all. Vincent tilted his head, unnatural red eyes flicking down to take in the way Cid clung to his shoulders.

Next thing Cid knew, he was being swept off his feet and set gently on the ground against one of the _Mini Bronco_ ’s wheels, with Vincent kneeling at his side. Vincent leaned forward, braced on his taloned hand.

"Whoa, shit-- w-warn a guy--"

Vincent didn't even blink, pulling a potion out of one of Cid's pockets. He thumbed the lid off and sniffed at it. The green liquid sloshed, the top a congealed mess. 

"These are expired."

"Oh." Cid thumped his head back against the wheel. "Well, shit."

Vincent rolled his eyes, dropping the potion on the grass beside him. Shifting his cloak to the side, he drew his gun from its holster, turning it to the side to inspect the materia inserted in the grip.

"Reckless, Highwind. What were you doing?"

"Helpin' the planet, shit, what'd it look like?"

He didn't meet the red-eyed stare.

Vincent didn't push it, instead raising his gun to the sky, drawing upon the power stored in the materia. Green light swirled around Cid, chilling and not at all refreshing.

The pain intensified, making him hunch over with a muffled curse, teeth clenched. Bones snapped back into place, sinew twisted and regrew, bruises grew dark and mottled before fading away. Then it was over all at once, leaving his side and ankle numb and tingling. He gasped as if he'd run a marathon, eyes wide. His head spun, vision spotting, and he had to struggle not to pass out right then and there.

"Sorry. Healing is not my specialty."

It took Cid a minute to process what had been said. Then he blurted, "No shit?!"

He shot a glare at Vincent, but all he got was a level stare in return. The gun was returned to its holster, cloak settled once more over it.

"What're ya even doin' here?" Cid asked. "How'd you find me?"

"Shera."

"Shiiiiiit."

"Are you capable of travel?"

"Y-- no, shit, let's stay here."

Vincent tipped his head back, his eyes narrowing. That was as close as he ever came to a knowing look.

"Shut the fuck up."

The corner of Vincent's mouth twitched. He hadn't said anything. He probably wouldn’t ever say anything. He was a moody, silent bastard with a sarcastic streak a mile wide. No one ever seemed to recognize it except Cid.

"She's gonna be goddamned _pissed_." Cid thunked his head against the _Mini Bronco_ a few more times.

Then he got up, gingerly because he still felt off-kilter, and dug out the camping kit--tent, sleeping bags, cookware, and all--and made Vincent help him set up camp. He had to stop and take frequent breaks as fatigue overwhelmed him, his body desperately needing rest to catch up with the rapid, forceful healing.

He resolutely didn't think about what waited for him back in Rocket Town until long after a makeshift dinner of hotdogs and beans, when the fire had died low and Vincent had slipped out of the tent to take first watch. Cid punched his flat, lumpy pillow a few times, trying to get comfortable.

Everyone thought Cid and Shera would get together, live happily ever after making airships instead of babies. The thing about that, though, was that he'd spent _years_ cussing her out and demeaning her over a mistake that wasn't even her fault. That wasn't the basis of a healthy relationship. Anyone to suggest otherwise was going to meet the business end of his fist.

So no, Shera didn't change her last name to Highwind. She got the house in Rocket Town and he officially named her CEO to his little operation. Mostly that meant she got to take all the credit for her genius, just like it always should have been, and he stayed out of her way.

And he named the new airship after her, not for romantic feelings, but because the world needed to know her name. Without her, Oil Rig 0008 would never have been successful, they'd never have established an alternate energy source that didn't drain the planet's very lifeblood. The _Shera_ would have never been able to fly all over the world saving lives.

Two years after the Deepground conflict, Cid kept himself busy running deliveries. The _Shera_ never stayed in one place long, and when it needed to dock for more than a month so the crew could recuperate, its head pilot took off in the _Mini Bronco_.

Rumor had it, his wanderlust was too great; he'd never settle down.

Truth is, he was too focused on the horizon. The planet was healing, but it was slow, and sometimes it needed a little help. It would never learn to forgive humans if they didn't prove their sincerity.

Cid figured he had the skills and the free time, so he might as well pitch in. It never occurred to him that he could leave the job to others. The itch to be doing _something_ \--anything!--to fill his downtime was too great.

So there wasn't much waiting for him in Rocket Town. The _Shera_ was docked for the next two months while the crew took a much needed vacation. He had nowhere in particular he was needed.

The tent flap swung open, letting in the dim, flickering light of the campfire. Vincent's silhouette filled the gap, shadow falling over Cid's prone form. The pale man stood there for a moment, as though hesitating, then strode into the tent, not to his own side where a sleeping bag lay waiting, but to kneel by Cid.

"Hey," Cid muttered, squinting in the sudden gloom.

Vincent bit the forefinger of his leather glove, pulling it off with his teeth. He opened his mouth with an inhale, dropping the glove into his lap. Then he pressed long, warm fingers up underneath Cid's jaw, against the pulse. Cid blinked, but didn't move. This wasn't the first time his friend had needed the reassurance that he was still alive, still real. Nor would it be the last.

With a slow exhale, Vincent slouched forward, dark hair falling into his face. He hadn't pulled his hand away yet. Cid reached up slowly, covering that hand with his own. Red eyes opened, gleaming faintly.

“Ya wanna sleep close?”

“We shouldn’t let our guard down,” Vincent said.

But he didn’t say no, so Cid scoffed, unzipping his sleeping bag all the way. The cold air hit his skin, raising goosebumps all along his arms and legs. He was only in his boxers and a white tank top, but Vincent had seen him in less. He laid the flat of one hand against Vincent’s shoulder and pushed, nudging his friend out of the way so he could drag the sleeping bag out towards the center of the tent. Vincent seemed to get the hint, retrieving his own bag to lay it flat over the both of them as he settled against Cid’s side.

“Ya not even gonna take ya damn boots off?”

Vincent sighed against Cid’s shoulder. Then, with great reluctance, sat back up to shed boots, belts, _and_ cape. The heavy artillery he called a handgun was laid carefully within reach, right by the edge of the sleeping bags. Then he glanced over at Cid, head tilted as if in askance, and, when Cid had no further complaints to make, dropped gracelessly back down against the other man’s side, radiating enough warmth that Cid had no choice but to leave one leg uncovered lest he overheat in the night.

And if Vincent happened to keep his good hand curled against Cid’s heartbeat, dog tags draped over white knuckles the entire night, well, that was just between them.


	2. the fighting's end

There was an incessant buzzing somewhere off to his right. It was not the cheery chime of a victory fanfare from his phone, nor any familiar classic tune. Propping himself up on his elbow, he squinted blearily across the tent, to the heap of red cloth.

Beside him, Vincent didn't move. Cid knew that the other man was not a heavy sleeper, but a stubborn one. If he didn't have to, Vincent wouldn't get up.

The buzzing stopped. Cid huffed out a relieved sigh, sinking back into the warm blankets. And then it started up again.

"Fuck, yer popular today, Vince." Cid jostled his elbow against Vincent's side. "Answer yer fuckin' phone."

With an aggrieved sigh, red eyes opened, then narrowed in a sullen glower straight through Cid. It was a look of pure, unfocused disgust, soon fading away to blankness as Vincent sat up abruptly. The movement yanked the blanket off of Cid as well, eliciting a hiss and a frantic grab for it.

"Didn't you want to get up?" Vincent wondered.

The corner of Vincent's mouth quirked as he began to pull more forcefully at the blanket, taking it with him as he stood and crossed the tent to retrieve the phone.

"Shit-- bastard, get back here!"

"No."

Vincent dropped the sleeping bag just out of Cid's reach. Swearing under his breath, Cid sat up, dragging his hands through his hair. It was too late to go back to sleep now. Might as well get a move on.

While Cid got dressed, Vincent held the cellphone up just beneath his chin, as though he couldn't see the text in perfect clarity at any distance. Awkwardly, he cradled the phone in his talons and tapped at the screen with his other hand, not always managing to press hard enough. It buzzed at him as he mistyped his pin. Sighing, he tried again, but just as he went to hit confirm, the phone began to buzz again with an incoming call. He ended up hitting the call refuse button.

"...Ah. I hope Tifa didn't have anything important to say..."

"Ya didn't hang up on her, did ya?"

"I may have."

"Shit." Cid finished buttoning his pants and yanking his socks on, then held his hand out towards Vincent. "Give it here."

Vincent glanced between the phone and Cid, a moment's hesitation. Then, he lifted it up high above Cid's waiting hand and uncurled talons one at a time, dropping it in a needless little flourish that spoke volumes of what he thought of the device. He held his taloned hand up for a moment or two longer before jerkily folding both arms over his chest.

The phone's screen was severely scratched up and the heavy duty plastic case looked like it was on its last legs, frayed strips hanging off. Cid raised his brows, whistling low between his teeth.

"What the hell ya been doin', lettin' the beast chew onnit?"

Vincent tucked his chin, letting his hair fall into his face, and said nothing. Just as well, the phone started buzzing again.

Cid thumbed the green answer button. "Yo!"

"Vin-- Cid?"

"Ayup. What's the haps, Tifa?"

"Why do you have Vincent's phone, Cid. Is he there?"

"Of course. He was havin' a lil bit of technological distress."

"I was not," Vincent muttered, hunching his shoulders inwards.

Cid shot a grin over at the other man, then raised his voice with forced cheer, "So what can I do ya for."

"Vincent was supposed to be here yesterday," Tifa answered, "but I guess if it's like that, no wonder he's late..."

"Like what?"

"You got to him first, just like always, right?"

"Wh--"

"Heehee. If you're off duty, Captain, you should come visit us too!"

"Uh, sure, Tifa," Cid said, unsure what he was agreeing to.

"Good. Put Vincent on the line now, I have a few choice words that are for his ears only."

Cid held the phone out towards Vincent. When it wasn't immediately taken, he gestured with it, lips pursed. "C'mon, man, take the fuckin' thing."

As if picking up something disgusting, Vincent plucked the phone up between forefinger and thumb, keeping his talons jammed up under his armpit. He turned away as he pressed the phone to his ear. What followed were the muffled sounds of Tifa yelling down the line while Vincent gave monosyllabic responses along the lines of, "yes," "no," and "hm."

Cid left him to it, retrieving his jacket, gloves, and boots. He yanked them on as he walked out of the tent, heading for the _Mini Bronco_. Aside from a bit of paint scraped off the tips of the wings and its underbelly, it looked no worse the wear, but he headed to the left propeller to begin checking the engines all the same.

After he'd gotten the chassis open and confirmed that the left engine was intact and functioning, he tapped a cigarette out into his palm and brought it to his lips.

"Those will kill you," Vincent said, startlingly close to his elbow.

"Shit!" Cid jumped forward, slapped his hands flat against the plane's wing, and twisted around to point. "Warn a guy."

"My apologies."

Vincent had already donned all of his gear, and he shrank into his cape, hiding the lower half of his face. He glanced to the side, regarding the little plane. Cid followed his gaze, rubbing the back of his head. The cigarette hung loosely between his lips, unlit.

"Should be good for a ride to Edge."

"I am not going to Edge."

"What, why not? Ain't Tifa expectin' you?"

Vincent inclined his head. "I need to return to Nibelheim first."

"...An' she not gonna show up 'n flatten the two of us into pancakes if we ain't in Edge by tomorrow?"

"No, I believe she understands. If she doesn't, it is her cross to bear."

"Huh. You gotta real fuckin' way with words, yanno that, Vince?"

Cid grinned at the slow blink that earned him, then shoved off to screw the chassis back into place. He moved over to check the other engine, on the right wing. It, too, was in good shape.

"Well, whatever, yer carriage awaits, prince charmin'. Sorry I ain't got a second seat. If I'd known I was gonna have some company, I'd've brought the _Altitude_ instead."

"You need not come with me, Cid..."

Cid spun on his heel, snatching his unlit cigarette from his mouth to point it at Vincent.

"The shit else am I gonna do? Would be dead if ya hadn't been there, so I might s'well fuckin' return the favor and give ya a lift."

"As you wish."

"Damn right. Let's get this shit cleaned up and get in the air."

Between the two of them, they broke camp in less than ten minutes, storing everything behind the pilot's seat in the _Mini Bronco_. Vincent made a careful second pass to clean up any remaining litter. Cid passed his goggles over, jerked his chin impatiently, and refused to move until Vincent reluctantly put them on. Then Vincent took his place atop the plane, as usual not bothering to strap in. Cid didn't even bother yelling at him for it anymore, focusing instead on buckling in and getting the engines started.

"Here we go!!" Cid yelled, thumping his fist against the ceiling.

The _Mini Bronco_ rose up into the air steadily, propellers kicking up gusts that flattened the grass. Cid had his eyes on the horizon, noting how pale it seemed in the distance. They'd have to watch out for storm clouds later in the day. He flicked his gaze down to the compass embedded in the dashboard, tilting the yoke until the nose was pointed northwest. Then he pushed the throttle and the little plane surged forward.

By air, it took them about two and a half hours to come within sight of tall, gloomy Mt. Nibel. Within another forty-five minutes, Cid could make out the sleepy little town at its base. He brought them gently down outside, setting the _Mini Bronco_ in another open field and coasting along until he could park it in the shade of a cluster of rocks, hopefully out of sight.

Vincent barely waited for the engines to shut off before jumping down, his cape flapping in the air behind him. He stood with his back to the plane, flexing both hands to work feeling back into the one. The goggles hung loosely around his neck, nestled within the cloak’s mantle.

Cid kicked the door open and hopped out, sauntering over on wobbly legs to stand next to Vincent. With a grunt, he pressed his hands to his lower back and stretched, popping his spine.

They exchanged a look, Vincent silent with brows slightly raised, and Cid grinning sheepishly.

"My ass is numb, how's 'bout yers?"

"My mood will be much improved when the world ceases vibrating."

Cid laughed, head thrown back. His stomach gave a loud gurgle, cutting him off.

"Ah, shit, regrettin' skippin' breakfast."

Vincent snorted, giving a slight shake of his head. He strode away, cape flapping, heading for the road. Cid had little choice but to hurry to lock the _Mini Bronco_ up and rush after him.

After all that it had been through, Nibelheim was nevertheless a thriving little town, thanks to the number of refugees that had fled Midgar and taken up residence in the aftermath of the Crisis. Outside the town gates, a number of small farms lined the road. The farmers paused to watch the strangers walking by, but none called out to stop them. If the dark clouds on the horizon were any indication, the farmers needed to get their work done quickly.

"So ya livin' in that mansion still?" Cid wondered, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag, smoke blown skyward.

Vincent didn't answer for several more steps. "No. ShinRa claimed that and donated it to the city in a surprisingly selfless act of charity."

"With that freaky basement an' all?"

"To my knowledge, all evidence of the past’s sins have since been eradicated. The basement is no more."

"Huh."

They walked on in companionable silence. The town's battered welcome sign hadn't been changed except to add a new population estimate--1567. A lot of souls for a place that had been haunted by Jenova's ghost for far too long.

Cid raised his gaze from the sign, taking in the town. The central plaza and water tower were unchanged, hedged in by red-roofed buildings that had all been given over to commerce, if the signs, open stalls, and bustling shoppers were any indication. Beyond that lay the mansion, sprawled ominously in the shadow of Mt. Nibel. The rest of the town had changed, though. Clusters of houses had been built further uphill, surrounding the mansion on either side.

"What'd ya wanna come here for anyhow, Vince?"

"I am in possession of a house nearby," the dark-haired man admitted with what sounded like reluctance.

"No shit? That's cool, didn't figure ya fer a settlin' man."

"It is only a roof to return to on occasion, Highwind."

"Sure, sure." Cid smiled, jabbing his elbow towards Vincent. "Ya forget to turn the oven off or somethin'?"

Vincent didn't dignify that with a response, sighing through his nose. He led the boisterous blond man down a road that circled around to the back of the mansion. Cid was a little surprised to note that the bronze plaque at the mansion gate named it "ShinRa Orphanage, In Honor of Those Not Reunited".

"Huh. A damn orphanage... Never woulda thought. Guess Shinra really wants to look good."

Sure enough, Cid caught glimpses of playground equipment in the yard over the brick wall, and heard the high laughter of children at play. After Geostigma, there hadn't been enough shelters in Edge to take them all in; it made sense to open orphanages elsewhere in the world, and a place like Nibelheim had good, clean air to grow healthy in.

Vincent led him away from the tight clusters of neighborhoods surrounding the mansion. The road continued on, uphill and into the woods. And there, nestled between sharply jutting rocks, perpetually in the shadow of Mt. Nibel, sat a small cabin.

"Nice place," Cid commented, earning himself a sidelong look.

It had an open porch devoid of furniture, with dying potted plants scattered beneath the front windows. A neat row of recycling bins sat under the porch, sheltered from the weather. Vincent opened the door, which didn't seem to have any kind of lock, and disappeared inside. Cid dropped his cigarette butt into an empty trash bin leaning against the side of the house, hearing the ember sizzle out in the water at the bottom.

The cabin was some kind of open plan thing, with a large central room divided between living room and kitchen. The bedroom was a nook overhead, reached by ladder. Probably the privy was out back somewhere.

Someone had given Vincent mismatched, hand-me-down furniture-- a lumpy floral print armchair that was at odds with an overstuffed plaid couch, a pair of wobbly metal end tables with chipped blue surfaces, old lamps that weren't even plugged in, and a battered set of drawers against the wall opposite of the nook. The kitchen seemed to be much the same, old appliances and utilities that Vincent likely never touched.

The only thing that seemed to see use at all was the bed up in the loft, piled high with blankets and pillows. And the bookshelves beneath, so packed with well-read paperbacks that leaning stacks had been piled both atop and beside them.

While Cid gawked at the decor, Vincent went into the kitchen and pushed the battered dining table aside. He knelt, producing a keyring from beneath his cloak, and unlocked the heavy padlock that held a trapdoor shut.

"Real fuckin' subtle, Vince," Cid said, wandering over.

"Subtlety is not necessary."

Vincent swung the trapdoor open, revealing a round metal door with a keypad in its center. Silent and expectant, he eyed Cid until the pilot turned away, giving him enough privacy to enter the code.

"Stay up here," Vincent instructed. "I will be back shortly."

"Sure. Don't s'pose ya got any food 'round here?"

"Unlikely."

Then Vincent was gone, clanging the metal door behind him. Cid sighed, but went to rifle through the cupboards anyway. He found a tea kettle and some bags of oolong tea that didn't look too old. It wasn't food, but it would keep him busy and fill his belly until Vincent was done being mysterious in that not-so-secret basement.

The kitchen sink was an old fashioned basin with a hand pump. Cid set the kettle beside the basin, lid propped open, and stepped around to test whether the pump would even work. It took several pushes for it to spurt out rusty water, and several more for the water to run clear and clean. He supposed it would have to do; he was planning on boiling the shit out of it anyway... Cid moved the kettle under the pipe, filling it up.

The stove was not quite so out of date. It wouldn't need firewood and matches, though Cid had to dig out his lighter and a cigarette to relight the pilot. Taking a drag of the cigarette, he moved the kettle over the flame, then moved over to the back door, opening it to step out into the backyard. He didn't know if Vincent would care if he smoked inside and didn't care to make an incorrect guess.

The backyard was small, hedged in by low, prickly bushes. The grass was overgrown, past his ankles. Near the very back was the expected outhouse. There was also, Cid was interested to note, another little shack right up against the house. If the shower head sign on the door was any indication, Vincent actually had a bath.

Everything looked untouched, unused, a courtesy that Vincent had no need of except in the very improbable chances of having guests.

It was quiet. Peaceful, maybe. Cid leaned against the side of the house, puffing on his cigarette, and gazed up, watching clouds sluggishly gather. He let his mind wander, not thinking of anything in particular.

Through the open door, the kettle began to whistle. A metallic clang, the scrape of wood on wood, and a loud click marked Vincent's return to the surface. Cid dropped his cigarette, stomping it out, picked the mangled butt up, and went back inside. Vincent straightened, looking pointedly towards the kettle, brows up.

"I still had tea? Are you certain it is not past its expiry date?"

"Hell no." Cid shrugged, dropping the butt in the trash in favor of grabbing a cheerful yellow potholder with a sunflower on it from a magnet hook on the fridge. He used it to move the kettle off the heat. "Not like that ever stopped me."

Vincent snorted, going to the back door. He peered out, up at the sky, then pulled the door closed. "We should get you some groceries. The weather won't allow for moonlit flights."

"Aww, were ya hopin' to go flappin' through the night like some big ol' bat, Vince?"

"No. That is ridiculous."

Smiling, Cid lifted the tin of tea bags to his nose, sniffing at it. It didn't have much smell. The leaves were long dead. Shrugging, he dumped the whole lot in the kettle.

"C'mon, let's go shoppin' while this shit steeps. It gonna take a goddamn long ass time to be more'n piss."

"We could get more tea bags..."

"Sure, back up's nice."

Vincent rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, already heading for the front door. "Your funeral."

"Nice place to die," Cid agreed. "Ain't nobody gonna disturb my fuckin' grave if ya bury me out back."

He grinned cheekily at the sharp look he got, following Vincent out and down the road.

Their trip to the general store was a quick one, neither wanting to get caught out in the rain. Vincent hung back near the racks of magazines and paperbacks, letting Cid do the majority of the food shopping.

The pilot's purchases included a tin of earl grey, various canned goods, new potions, a loaf of bread, a stick of butter, six eggs, a couple of big potatoes, a quart of milk, a wedge of cheese, jerky, and a big slab of ham steak. At the counter, he grabbed a handful of candy sticks in different flavors from a jar, adding them to the pile.

As the clerk rang them up, Cid called back, "Oi, Vince, want anything?"

The dark-haired man drifted over to the counter and set a tin can of machine oil and a paperback next to the pile of groceries. The cover depicted a woman who looked distressed that her dress wouldn't stay in place without help, seemingly unaware of the spooky silhouette looming in the background. The author's name was bigger than the title.

"Got bored wit' whodunnits?"

"It is a supernatural mystery," Vincent insisted very seriously.

"Sure."

Cid closed his eyes, smiling, and turned his face away, pretending not to know that Vincent was glowering. He didn't protest Vincent paying, either.

Together, they gathered up their bags and headed back to the cabin. It started to drizzle halfway there.

"Shit! Not today, fuckin' rain!" Cid yelled, starting to run.

"It is only water..."

Nevertheless, Vincent ran after Cid, cape flapping. Maybe he realized that his newest acquisition wouldn't survive the weather.

Lightning flashed overhead. Thunder followed a few moments later, long and deep. Suddenly, it wasn't just drizzling, but pouring, a thick curtain of rain that soaked everything through immediately.

They piled into the cabin, Cid laughing and dripping water everywhere, and Vincent sullenly rifling through his bag to ensure that the book hadn't gotten too wet. He was jostled from his search by Cid clapping a hand against his shoulder, urging him towards the kitchen.

"Ya got any towels 'round here?"

With his miraculously untouched book tucked under one arm, Vincent strode over to the dresser against the wall. He yanked the top drawer open, plucking a couple of ragged striped towels from it. These, he tossed Cid's way, already moving towards the ladder leading up to his bed.

Cid caught one of the towels; the other fell short. "Oi, ya not gonna get in ya bed while ya still fuckin' wet, are ya?"

Vincent paused.

Then he sighed, unlatching his mantle and letting it drop right there on the floor. He toed his boots off next, pulling his bandana loose from his hair to drape it on the ladder. Cid’s goggles still hung around Vincent’s neck, like they belonged there. Red eyes shot a narrow, challenging look at Cid through the bars.

"Ehh... whatever. Ya wantin' dinner?"

Vincent shrugged a shoulder, already beginning to climb. He had a book to read.

Shaking his head, Cid turned to wipe down the groceries, putting everything but the eggs, milk, butter, bread, and ham steak away. As he did so, he dug out a frying pan and spatula, setting them on the stove top. To his delight, he found that Vincent had a full spice rack nailed to the inside of a cupboard door. Most of it was probably dead, but the salt and pepper would be safe enough.

Humming, Cid prepared a simple dinner of scrambled eggs, chopped ham steak, and toast. The oolong was bland, with a sour note, so he tossed it and made a fresh batch of earl gray. Though Vincent had shown no interest in the food, Cid fixed two plates anyway, setting them on the table.

He wandered over to the ladder, hands on his hips, and called up, "C'mon an' eat."

The flap of a page being turned was his answer. Well used to Vincent's moods and not one to be deterred, Cid grabbed a ladder rung and started climbing. He poked his head up over the top. The barrel of a triple barreled gun was less than an inch away from his nose; Vincent didn't even look up from the book cradled in his talons.

"Shit, it's just food, Vince, ya don't even gotta stop readin'."

"Will you be quiet if I eat?"

Cid hemmed, eyeing the gun as it lowered a fraction. He knew his friend wouldn't really shoot him, but he also knew he was on thin ice.

"Uh, sure."

"Fine." Vincent stowed the gun away, tucking a talon between the pages of the book, and shifted towards the ladder on his knees. "No more talking."

"Er--"

Red eyes narrowed, hand dropping towards the gun's holster.

"Wait a sec, shit, I ain't gonna say nothin' else, I just gotta know where the fuck I'm sleepin' tonight."

This seemed to take the edge from Vincent's posture. He breathed out, tossing his head to get hair out of his face, obviously giving the topic due consideration.

"Your choice: bed or couch. I will take the opposite."

Cid nodded, and slid down the ladder, moving out of the way. A moment later, a pillow and blanket sailed down. The blanket settled over his head with a whump; the pillow hit the floor. Then Vincent climbed down, breezing by wordlessly. Cid stood still, head bowed, fingers flexing, trying not to laugh because the noise might bother his moody host.

When he had gotten himself under control again, he shrugged the blanket off, retrieved the pillow, and dumped both on the couch.

Dinner, and the entire rest of the night, was silent but for the rumble of thunder in the distance and the steady rain. Cid retreated to the porch after doing the dishes to have a smoke.

As he listened to the rain, he thought about how he didn't relish the thought of squelching through the backyard in the dark to use the outhouse. He didn't think about whether Vincent's couch would be uncomfortable, or whether he'd be warm enough. He didn't think about fingers pressed to his pulse.

Later, he did brave the backyard to take a leak, cursing the whole way, and came back inside to find Vincent waiting with another towel and a spare pair of pants, too long in the leg but better than staying in his wet jeans.

Cid wanted to ask if Vincent had finished his book already, but didn't. Wanted to ask if he was okay, but didn't. Wanted a lot of things, but didn't voice them. He'd promised to be quiet, after all. He focused on stripping, drying off, changing, and draping his sodden clothes on the backs of the kitchen chairs, all the while pretending his skin didn't prickle for being watched.

Vincent turned away without saying anything, walking to the center of the living room, equal distance from the couch and the ladder. He tilted his head, regarding Cid.

By way of answer, Cid went to the couch, flopping with legs akimbo. Vincent looked at him for a moment longer, and then was gone, up the ladder to his nest of blankets.

Hours later, sleep eluding him, Cid shifted around onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and imagined he could see the rain falling on him. It didn't surprise him at all that the wetness felt too real, but he couldn’t think of any particular reason for it. Wishing for something stronger than nicotine, he scrubbed at his cheeks and smothered the urge to start yelling the storm down.


	3. poison from my skin

Cid woke to grey light, the cold just before dawn, feeling the crawling sensation of being watched. He rolled onto his back and turned his head.

Vincent sat in the floral print chair across from him, red eyes glowing. Both hands clutched at dark hair, talons digging in enough to draw blood, which ran down the side of his face. Teeth too sharp to be human grit tight, muffling labored breathing.

For a moment, Cid laid there, blinking through the fog of poor sleep. Then he slid off the couch, bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a hiss that drew too much pointed interest from the other man. All the same, Cid didn't hesitate, closing the distance. He dropped into a crouch by Vincent's knees, reaching.

"Don't," Vincent warned, voice an unpleasant rumble that wasn't quite human. He leaned back from the touch, still holding his head like it might fly apart if he didn't keep it together.

Cid scoffed because he'd never been one to listen to Vincent even back when they'd first met, when there were too many demons trapped behind red eyes, and he wasn't about to start listening _now_ , not when his friend clearly needed him.

Grasping the metal wrist firmly, Cid pried it away, pausing only to gently untangle long black hair from the joints. Vincent was tense, resisting, but not fighting. If he didn't want to be moved, Cid wouldn't be able to budge him in a million years.

Heedless of the sharp edges of claws, Cid wrapped his hands around the prosthetic hand, holding tight even though Vincent couldn't feel it. But he could see it, could smell the blood as the pilot sliced his hands up for his sake, not for the first time. Not for the last.

Vincent inhaled, dropping his head against the back of the chair, and fought the beast with everything he had, his frame shaking from the effort.

And Cid said nothing, perhaps out of respect for the night's demand to be quiet.

All he could do was wait and bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grunting when the talons spasmed and cut through flesh. He had to trust in Vincent to win out like he'd done every time before.

The sun was fully up by the time the fit passed, by the time the beast gave up and retreated, leaving Vincent slouched and gasping quietly, eyes foggy.

Everything lay between them, unspoken but for the steady drip, drip, drip of blood splattering on the floor.

Slow and cautious, Cid loosened his grip on the claw, wincing at how stiff and painful the movement was. He set it on Vincent's knee and tensed, preparing to stand, his knees screaming at him for holding the awkward crouch for too long. Just as he got to his feet, Vincent grabbed at his arm, thankfully not with the clawed gauntlet, and held too tight, red eyes sharp and-- maybe afraid, maybe not.

Cid looked down at him, teeth clamped tight around the urge to speak. He wouldn't break the silence, not until Vincent gave him the go ahead.

"You were dreaming," Vincent said, almost too soft to be heard.

Cid clenched his teeth, longing for something to bite down on that wasn't his own tongue. His ears were filled with the distant, discordant buzz of machinery. He smelled sweat and grass and felt the throb of old wounds, long healed.

"Answer me."

"Yeah." Cid felt like his voice was coming from far away, muffled by gunfire. "I was." Sluggish, like moving through molasses, he tucked his chin, peering blearily down at the hand still clutching at his wrist. "What 'bout you?"

Vincent bowed his head and said nothing for a long time. His grip loosened bit by bit, but didn't quite release.

"I could not hold back the old nightmares. The beast sensed easy prey and a soft heart. I'm sorry."

"Pssht. Nothin' happened."

The pointed squeeze at his wrist said otherwise, but neither of them voiced it, nor looked too closely at the still oozing cuts.

"Shall I use Cure?"

"Not 'less you don't mind a late start."

"Time is without end for one such as I. Either I heal you or I don't, either way, you will have to stop bleeding on my floor."

"Yeah, real goddamn sorry 'bout that, Vince," Cid griped.

Vincent squinted his eyes closed, held them that way for a few moments, looking peaceful in the predawn light. When he re-opened them, he let go of Cid's wrist and stood, drawing his gun from its holster. He kept the barrel pointed straight down, the grip held loosely. Thumbing at the materia idly, he brought the weapon close to Cid's arm. Green light flared and the cuts burned like ice as they sealed up.

The fatigue that crept in after wasn't overwhelming, but enough to take the edge off of his too wired nerves. Cid gave a grateful half-smile, backing away to flop on the couch.

"Thanks, Vin," he mumbled, dragging the blanket up over his shoulders.

Vincent nodded, stowing his gun. "Sleep well."

As he dozed, Cid was vaguely aware of Vincent moving around, of the sound of boots clacking away, the rustle of cloth flapping, the front door opening and closing. He didn't worry too much about it; Vincent would come back when he was ready.

The next time he woke, it was to the sound of the pump squeaking, water rushing into a glass and splashing against the sides of the basin. Cid yawned and stretched with a noisy groan, spine and hips cracking. He sat up too quick and squinted into the kitchen to see Vincent standing by the sink, glass of water halfway to his mouth.

There was, Cid noted vaguely, a neat little line of pills along the edge of the counter. His gaze slid away from them, and he turned away, planting feet on the floor and leaning forward with elbows propped on his knees until it didn't feel quite so much like he'd moved too fast, leaving the world spinning off kilter.

The silence in the cabin was oppressive. Cid took one breath at a time, listening to the faint click of the glass being set down and picked up and drank from as Vincent worked his way down the line of pills. He couldn't remember the pale man ever needing _medicine_. Couldn't remember him ever wanting anything to do with doctoring at all, in fact.

"S'not drugs, issit?"

Vincent set the glass in the kitchen sink a little too forcefully. "Generally, medicine is a type of drug," he said, voice flat. "Do you require proof of prescription or are you going to leave my private affairs well enough alone for once?"

"Goddamn sarcastic asshole." Cid stood, remembering he'd left his cigarettes in his back pocket and hoped they hadn't gotten ruined in his outhouse run the night before. "Ain't gonna pry. If ya say ya got this fuckin' handled, I'm good."

He went to where his jeans were still hanging over the back of a kitchen chair, not looking at Vincent. The denim was still damp up around the seams and pockets. Making a face, he rooted around, confirming wallet, keys, breath mints, an old bottle cap, a handkerchief, his lighter, a folded up unpaid water bill from ten years ago with his chicken scratch on the back of it, and finally the blessed pack of cigarettes, still salvageable.

"Cid," Vincent said. When Cid still wouldn't look at him, he stepped into the pilot's personal space. "Highwind."

Cid shoved a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and lifted his gaze from pointed boots to a pointed stare. "Yeah?"

"If and when I am comfortable with discussing it, you would be my first choice."

Gaping, Cid couldn't think of anything to say to that. His heart did an odd flip flop, slamming against his ribcage like it forgot how it was supposed to work.

Vincent used his distraction to reach forward, plucking the cigarette from loose fingers, and took a drag. He blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, up towards the ceiling, and then flicked the cigarette into the sink.

"H-hey, goddammit!"

"Don't smoke in my house."

"Fuck! Ya coulda just fuckin' _said_ , didn't hafta waste my goddamn smoke!"

Vincent gave him a squinty look that didn't look the least bit upset. There was something soft about it. Cid couldn't look too closely for long, turning his face away with muttered curses under his breath. He grabbed his clothes, yanking them on between hopping steps towards the back door.

"I gotta take a leak. Lemme know where the fuck we're goin' when I get back."

"Hm."

Cid stomped his feet into his boots, then pushed out into the warm, humid afternoon, letting the door slam behind him. He crossed the wet yard, face screwed up in irritation as his jeans got soaked through again by the too tall grass, and entered the outhouse to relieve himself and smoke in peace.

Afterwards, feeling much better, he returned to the cabin to find Vincent leaning on the wall by the front door, apparently ready to leave. Cid bent to finally tie his boots properly, then grabbed the handful of candy sticks he'd bought the day before. It looked like another day of missed meals.

Unwrapping a stick--root beer, probably--and shoving it in the corner of his mouth, he wandered over to Vincent. "Where to?"

"I would prefer to not go all the way to Edge on the top of a plane."

Cid held the bundle of candy out, pleased when Vincent took a red one. "Sure, uh, fuck, I guess we're... goin' to Rocket Town. Shit."

"If you would prefer not to, I can make my own way to Edge."

"No, shit, let's go. Fuck." Cid crunched the end of his candy stick, then swiped his tongue against the sharp edges. "Hell, ya can read me one of ya goddamn trash novels on the flight to Tifa's."

"As you wish."

Vincent didn't unwrap his candy until they were outside, dodging between huge mud puddles on the way through town. He left the majority of the plastic sleeve on as he put the bared tip in his mouth. A thoughtful, distant look came over his face, and he was quiet for the whole walk to the _Mini Bronco_.

That suited Cid fine. He could feel his nerves thrumming beneath his skin. Going back so soon hadn't been in his plans. He'd have to eventually, to get back in the Captain's seat of The _Shera_ when work resumed, but it would be easier to avoid the woman herself in the hubbub. His only hope was that she'd be away, maybe looking after one of the oil rigs or tied up in a meeting or _something_ when they showed up to swap planes.

The _Mini Bronco_ was just as they'd left it. Cid gave it a thorough check over as he primed the engines. He also gave Vincent a rag to wipe the condensation off the top of the wing, not wishing a soaked front and the chafing that would follow on anyone.

They soon took to the skies, heading further north over the mountains. It wouldn't take them long to reach Rocket Town. Their course took them over a countryside dotted with new farmsteads and oil rigs and towns trying to make a go of it. Cid drummed his fingers against the sides of the yoke, daydreaming about what he'd do if he weren't the pilot of the biggest, best airship in the world. He couldn't think of much that held his attention long. The sky called to him, drawing him away from any hope of making a living on the ground like all the hopefuls below.

Landing was smooth with an actual airstrip to land on and a flight crew to hail him over the radio, directing him to an empty stretch of pavement at the edges of Rocket Town. The so-called town had tripled in size since the crisis. The old, rusty framework that had once supported Rocket 26 still stood as a testament to the town's history and perseverance. As a testament to the dream Cid once clutched to his bitter heart, unable to trust in the intellect of a woman who deserved a far better friend.

"Let's mosey," he muttered, as the _Mini Bronco_ ’s engines ticked down.

Vincent slid off the top of the plane and stepped out of the way as Cid opened the door. The pilot grabbed his empty pack and loaded it up with as much stuff as he could from behind the seat, then ditched the plane at a fast walk, evading the approaching crew with a, "In a goddamn hurry, taking the _Altitude_ , updates can come fuckin' later."

"You are avoiding Shera," Vincent noted.

"Gotta fuckin' problem with that?"

"It is none of my concern."

"Too goddamn right."

The _Altitude_ was parked in garage 10, in pristine condition, if lacking in fuel. It was a blue plane, about double the size of the _Mini Bronco_ , with four seats and a decent amount of space in the back for hauling supplies. Cid threw his stuff in the storage compartment beneath the floor.

"Anything ya wanna chuck in?" he called over his shoulder.

"No, but you seem to be lacking in supplies... or a weapon. It would be foolish risk to go as is."

"Shit, yeah, I lost my spear and some goddamn decent materia. Fuuuck."

Cid slammed the storage compartment shut, tapping his foot. He needed to get the plane fueled up, and fast, so they could take off before anyone could pass the word on to Shera that he was back in town. But his spare weaponry was all in storage in a shed behind Shera's house...

"I am also lacking in reading material with which to entertain you."

"A goddamn shame. Awright, look." Cid dug his keyring out, shaking them until he had the shed key between his fingers. He held it out to Vincent. "Stealth mission, go get shit from my shed. Got some gil and spare weapons and shit."

"I am not going to sneak around Shera," Vincent said. "If I see her, I will have to tell her."

"Damn it, Vince, _please_ , not fuckin' right now."

With eyes narrowed, Vincent gazed at him, unmoving, until Cid shook the key ring at him. After the keys were taken, Cid whirled away and hurried to fetch empty fuel cans to fill up at the pump outside. He didn't watch Vincent's departure, too focused on getting in the air quickly.

He had the gas tanks three quarters of the way filled when his mood went to shit. One of the regular pilots called out to him from across the yard, her crew in tight formation behind her as she approached. Valerie. Her name was Valerie, Cid recalled, chewing on a peppermint candy stick and glaring.

"Hey, Captain, when'd you blow into town," Valerie said, too cheerily, once she was close enough to be heard over the background noise of machinery and people yelling at said machinery when it failed to function as expected.

"Just now."

"And already taking off?" She looked between the canisters at his feet and his face.

Before she could open her mouth to ask the inevitable question of whether Shera knew, Cid bit out, "That's goddamn right. Got pressin' business elsewhere."

"Sure, Captain. Why don't you let my gang finish up and let's you and me take a walk."

She wasn't going to take no for an answer. Cid chomped on the candy stick, glowering, as he was led away, leaving the _Altitude_ to the crew. They were professionals; the plane would be primed and ready by the time Valerie let him go. If she ever did.

"You been scarce for way too long," she told him, frowning. "Don't know what's goin' on between you and Shera." She held a hand up, cutting him off. "Don't care, neither. Didn't take you for a coward."

"FUCK you! I ain't a goddamn fuckin' _coward_!!"

Valerie stopped and looked at him, and waited while he yelled an unsightly stream of curses that could be heard clear across the airport. No one came to see what was the matter. All but the greenest pilots were used to Cid's explosive temper and foul mouth.

When he subsided into panting silence, she said, "Then I guess you'll get on down to her house and say hello before you leave.” Then she walked off, leaving him to glare at her back.

He might have done as she said if the familiar sight of red near the gates didn't catch his eye first. Vincent strode towards him, cape flapping, a spear resting against one shoulder and a large, brown paper bag in the other arm.

"What's with everyone fuckin' tellin' me my business," Cid growled, when Vincent was close enough. He took the spear, eyeing the brown bag. "Plane oughta be ready. Ya get all the shit ya wanted?"

"Mutual concern and respect makes people into horrible busy bodies." The corner of Vincent's mouth twitched up. "I believe I am prepared for all but the worst case scenario."

"And what's that?" Cid asked, leading the way to Garage 10.

"Tifa has not indicated what she wanted me for, and I can only assume it will be irritating." Vincent paused. "Perhaps not as irritating as sharing cramped space with one of Reeve's dreadful contraptions. Or that book last night..."

"Sucked, huh?"

"People get _paid_ to write the most inaccurate filth."

Cid laughed the whole way through boarding and take off, earning him some very concerned looks and comments from the crew and a long-suffering sidelong look from Vincent.

His amusement faded half a mile outside Rocket Town, as the radio crackled to life, Shera's voice on the air. "Captain, if you're listening, I just wanted to let you know... I'll always have a pot of tea ready for you."

Cid snapped the radio off. He gave Vincent a challenging look, _daring_ him to say anything else. The other man merely opened his newest book--something with less scantily clad women on the cover, lifting it in front of his face in a pointed display of disinterest. Maybe he didn't want to bother fiddling with the headphones they both wore just to say "I told you so".

Their flight was quiet after that, leaving Cid to stormy thoughts and prickly irritation. All possibility of being read to had been left behind in Rocket Town with goddamn Shera and the fucking nosy busy bodies that couldn't leave well enough alone.

His stomach growled, reminding him of how poorly he'd been eating. Vincent produced a foil-wrapped sandwich and then a can of cherry soda from the paper bag between his feet without ever taking his eyes off the book cradled in his talons. He didn't seem bothered that he had to lean and reach awkwardly since Cid sat to his left.

"Thanks, Vince."

Vincent made a noncommittal noise, muffled by the roar of the engine.

Cid kept one hand on the yoke and used his teeth to tear into the foil, releasing a steak-and-white cheddar panini from its prison. He wasn't going to win any awards for neat eating, not with how hungry he suddenly felt nor with only one hand free at any given time. Grease from the sandwich spotted his jeans when he set it down to drink the soda cradled between his thighs. Tifa would have plenty of ammunition for snarky comments. He belched, grinning when Vincent actually glanced up from the book.

Vincent hooked his claw around the headset's microphone, pulling it down to his mouth. "Aren't you in fine spirits." His deadpan voice had a faint echo over their local frequency.

"Sure, why the fuck not, I got the company of a gloomy bastard that cares enough to feed me and hasn't thrown me out a movin' plane for bein' a stubborn jackass."

"I can't fly this contraption. If you like, I can throw you off Mt. Nibel at a later date."

"I'm good, thanks."

"A pity."

Cid shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, crumpling the foil up to toss it somewhere behind his chair. Cleanup could come later. He checked their longitude and latitude against recognizable landmarks below.

"Should reach Edge in a few hours. Be well after dark. Ya wanna fly straight through or hunker down somewhere, pick this shit up in the morning?"

"I am indifferent."

"Real goddamn helpful." Cid took a drink of his soda, rattled the can, then quickly emptied the dregs into his mouth. He then shook the can in Vincent's direction.

The red eyed man squinted, but took the can by the pull tab. He set it between his own legs, pressing his gauntleted hand flat against the top. Applying pressure slowly, he crushed the can flat. He put it in the brown paper bag instead of flinging it willy-nilly, giving Cid a pointed look as he did so.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Shit. Fuckin' show off."

Despite his words, Cid was amused. He wished he could have a cigarette. The candy sticks were all gone, crunched away too fast. Licking at his lips, he considered landing just to get some relief from the slow build of need crawling along his nerves.

Vincent seemed prepared for anything. He held his gauntlet out, a trio of lollipops cradled in the palm. And, at long last, he seemed willing to relinquish the goggles; they hung by the strap from a finger.

"Hey, holy shit, awesome!" Cid laid claim to the mystery flavor, unwrapping and shoving it in his mouth. Shifting the candy to the inside of one cheek, his voice was only slightly garbled. He carefully took the goggles, sliding them into their customary place atop his head. "Let's fuckin' get there tonight, wake Cloud's ass up."

"I will not take one of Tifa's punches for you."

"Pssht, we'll kick Cloud's dumb ass into the line of fire. She won't flatten him too bad."

Vincent made a little "ha!" sound, muffled by a strawberry sucker. Cid grinned, shifting around in his seat, settling in for the rest of the flight.


	4. be whole again

Edge glowed on the horizon, nowhere near as bright as the city that came before it. Midgar's blinding lights had been visible from across the world on clear nights.

As the hours dragged on and the soft, yellow lights of the cabin flickered on, Vincent had finished his book and hunched inward, arms folded tightly over his chest. His eyes had that far away look that said he was overwhelmed and in desperate need of some quiet to recharge. If Cid could have made the plane go any faster, he would have.

Edge possessed a decent airport largely occupied by helicopters. Cid snapped the radio on and tuned into the control tower's frequency, hailing them. A crackly voice guided him through landing and assured him that his plane would be seen to during his stay.

Once they landed, Vincent passed the brown paper bag over and got out of the plane, drifting away from the hubbub to stand in the dark until it was time to go. Cid climbed out and opened up the back so he could get his spear and pack out of storage. He peered into the paper bag. It contained two more paperbacks, a plastic sack of lollipops, a bag of jerky, and the metal tin Cid used to store excess materia. At the very bottom, he discovered a pack of cigarettes. Grinning, he made room for it all in his pack, then slammed the storage and the plane doors shut.

"I find even one damn scratch on her when I get back, y'all fuckin' _dead_ ," he warned the gaggle of crew members approaching the _Altitude_.

A nervous chorus of "yes, sir"s followed him as he sauntered away. Vincent fell into step with him as soon as he left the brighter lights surrounding the plane. Cid, feeling that his friend might appreciate a quiet walk, busied himself with a cigarette.

Tifa lived on the far side of town. Normally this would necessitate some form of public transportation, but Cid stuck to the sidewalks, not minding the walk after sitting for so long. After a while, the distance between his shoulder and Vincent's closed. Cid glanced over the first time they brushed together. Vincent had his eyes resolutely forward, expression impassive. Hard to know if the faraway look was gone.

Cid yawned widely, stretching, and wondered how late it was. The day seemed to drag on forever. They passed a bank sign that displayed the time in large, neon green lights--0234.

"The bar'll still be open."

"...I would prefer to wake Cloud."

"I'll go let Tifa know we're here," Cid offered. "Ya can go 'round back 'n wait. Don't gotta come in and deal with shitfaced losers."

Their shoulders bumped together. Cid couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not, but Vincent followed it with, "Alright."

Seventh Heaven was indeed still open when they approached it, though likely winding down for the night. Vincent slipped away down the alley, a flash of red fading into darkness. Cid tapped his spear on his shoulder, took a breath, then entered the bar. Nothing so dramatic as everyone stopping what they were doing to stare at the newcomer happened. In fact, no one paid him any mind at all except the brown haired beauty behind the bar.

"Cid! About time you showed up. Where's Vincent hiding?" Tifa grabbed an empty beer mug, wagging it in offer.

"Out back. I'll mooch some of that piss water some other time." Cid leaned against the bar, mindful of scraping his spear against anything.

"Uh-huh. Lemme close up."

She put the mug back, looking over the small crowd of regulars scattered in the bar. Most of them were drowsing in their drinks, long overdue for their beds. It didn't take her long to chase her patrons out, admonishing them not to drive and to stay safe. After the very final clicks of the front locks, she clapped her hands together.

"Okay, let's grab Vincent before he takes off to brood and go home." Tifa flicked her fingers dismissively at the mess left behind by her patrons. "The newbies can clean this up in the morning."

"Breakin' em in gently, huh, Tifa?"

She beamed at him.

Motioning for him to follow, she led him out the back, turning the lights off as they went. The back door was the kind that locked on its own after shutting, with no handle on the outside. Vincent stood across from it, and looked up at the slam of its closing.

"There you are," Tifa said, marching up to him. She put her hands on her hip and glared up into his face. "You're lucky I started early, what if you'd come too late!"

"Late for what?" Vincent's voice was low, without inflection, as if he didn't particularly care what the answer was.

"Don't play dumb!"

Tifa huffed, spun on her heel, and marched down the alley, fully expecting both men to follow. Which they did, after exchanging bemused looks.

With three teenagers living with them full time and so many coming and going, Tifa and Cloud had moved from the second floor of the bar to a three story apartment building next door. They converted the whole thing into one home, keeping spare rooms for their frequent guests. Tifa let them in through the back door, directing them up to the second floor.

"Everyone else is already here, so we only have one room left, sorry."

"S'fine," Cid said with more confidence than he felt.

Vincent didn't say anything.

Tifa nodded, leading them to a door at the end of the hallway. She unlocked the door, pulled the key from her keyring, and offered it to Cid. Vincent swept past them, vanishing into the room without turning the lights on.

Cid leaned against the wall by the door, eyeing Tifa. "Whatcha mean 'everyone's here,' the fuck's goin' on?"

"Oh, you know, it's pretty late... and you'll wake the kids! I'll tell you in the morning."

The only reason he let her go without pushing it was because of how cheerful and mischievous her smile was. And probably a little bit that she could punch a building hard enough to demolish it.

"Tch, whatever."

Cid entered the room, dropping his things by the door, which he shut and locked out of habit. He unlaced his boots and kicked them off, reaching blindly for the light switch.

"One bed," Vincent pointed out, perched on the end of said bed.

Cid grunted. It was only a problem if it was a problem for Vincent on that particular night.

The room consisted of a double bed, with end tables with lamps on either side. An empty chest of drawers sat against one wall, a small closet nearby. There was an armchair by the window, too small to sleep in. The floor was hardwood with a round, rough textured rug sitting between the end of the bed and the door.

"Ya okay with this?" Cid asked, warily approaching the bed. "Or ya want me to take the floor?"

"You will behave as if you have aged twenty years if you sleep there." Vincent sighed, standing.

"Hey, I'm not _that_ damn bad!"

The look Vincent gave him said otherwise. Cid huffed, jutting his chin, and looked out the window. There wasn't much to see, just the glare of street lights on a nearby wall.

"I am too tired for this juvenile argument," Vincent admitted.

"We'll probs find out Tifa has more damn rooms, she just pickin' on us old bastards for bein' late."

"Possibly."

The click of buckles being undone, rasp of cloak hitting the floor, and the creak of the bed springs marked Vincent's choice. Cid looked down at him, one brow rising.

"Turn the lights out and come sleep, Highwind."

"'Kay."

Cid went over to turn the lights back off. On his way to the bed, he shimmied out of his jeans and jacket. His knees bumped against the edge of the bed; he patted carefully along the mattress before climbing in, mindful of the space between them. A double didn't leave a lot of room for two grown men.

They slept back to back just like old times.

His dreams were filled with blood and smoke, warm breath and sharp teeth on his neck, a voice that hurt telling him, "I've got your six." Old, familiar memories, never restful.

Sunlight slanted through the window, too bright. Cid muttered a muffled curse, rolling over to find the bed empty. He pushed up onto his elbows, blinking.

In the armchair by the window, Vincent sat with his legs crossed, book propped open on his leg. His hair was loose, hanging around his face. Smoke curled up from a stolen cigarette held loose between two fingers against his knee.

It was the picture of serenity, untouched by the way the whole building seemed to shake from the thunderous noise of residents and guests vying for the bathrooms.

Vincent glanced up from the book, then back down. "I have been informed that we should expect pain of death if we don't clean up for breakfast."

Someone thundered down the hall. A woman's voice yelled from far away, too muffled to understand. Doors slammed. Water pipes rattled. It was a goddamn zoo out there.

Cid eyed the door, then flopped face first into the pillows with a grunt. Despite the noise, he started to doze.

The mattress dipped by his shoulder and hip. Shifting onto his side, he found Vincent leaning over him on the gauntlet and a knee.

"What's up?"

Vincent lifted the cigarette to his mouth, taking a pull, then offered it. Not one to turn down a smoke, Cid took it, rolling over onto his back. Vincent settled onto the newly abandoned warm spot with his back to Cid. He hunched over, elbows on his knees, hair in his face.

"This... domestic scene is surreal."

"Fuckin' wild, innit. Cloud 'n Tifa raisin' brats and shit. Still blows my mind." Cid wagged the cigarette at the ceiling. "Are they even, yanno, together?"

"I don't care enough about idle gossip to find out."

"Whatever, Cloud'll bitch at us if things aren't all sweet in heaven."

Cid finished off the cigarette, leaning around Vincent to stub it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. He folded his arms on the mattress next to the other man's hip, propping his chin against his forearm. Vincent tensed, but didn't move.

"Ya want uh. Help with--" Cid wiggled his fingers vaguely. "--all that?"

"I do not possess anything to change into. Tifa will have to be disappointed at my cleanliness."

"Yer funeral."

"I believe you know my last wishes," Vincent said, with a hint of a smile.

"'Course! I got yer--" -- _six_ , his brain supplied, and his mouth went dry, unable to finish his sentence.

Vincent tilted his face towards Cid, studying him. "You were dreaming again."

Cid cleared his throat, looked away, pretended it didn't feel like he was choking on fire, his heart hammering too fast, his skin prickling. The silence stretched out, uncomfortable and heavy.

"Yeah, well," he eventually managed, voice husky. "Gettin' sentimental in my old age or somethin'."

"That must be it," Vincent said.

A loud knocking shook the door and startled them apart. They'd barely noticed how quiet it had gotten until that moment.

"You boys better get a move on if you want breakfast!" Tifa's voice called out. She didn't wait for an answer, her footsteps already moving away down the hall.

"Right." Cid clambered off the bed, grabbing clean clothes from his pack. "Let's get this shitshow over with."

One lukewarm shower later, Cid felt a little less run over. He ambled downstairs and found the dining room largely deserted, the crowd long since departed for the great outdoors or whatever. Tifa sat at one end of the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

"You're so slow," she said. "You and Vincent get dish duty. Leftovers are in the kitchen."

"Shit, yer a real cruel mistress." Shaking his head at her laughter, he went to the kitchen.

The kitchen was empty but for two occupants. Barret stood at the center island, loading his plate with sausages. He already had a heaping tower of pancakes and eggs threatening to spill off the edges. Cait Sith, sans the horrible mog half, stood on one of the stools, singing a repetitive song about liking waffles.

Said song cut off abruptly when Cait Sith noticed Cid's presence. "Cid Highwind! How ya doing, it has been _some_ time!"

"Ain't you s'posed to show up to these lil gatherings in person?" Cid shook his head, scowling. 

Reeve was a kindred soul when it came to engineering, but he always seemed to waste his time designing obnoxious remote-controlled personas. Cid couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd seen the real Reeve in the flesh. If he ever had.

"I miiiight be somewhere!" Cait Sith sing-songed. "You should come find me after breakfast. I'm _sure_ we can think of some interesting topics of discussion..."

"Damn sneaky ShinRa bastard," was Barret's input, as he stomped from the room, giving Cid a silent nod of acknowledgement.

"Mooow, you'd think he'd realize I haven't been ShinRa for a long time."

"He's just set in his ways. And ya _are_ a sneaky bastard."

"So cruel...!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Cid moved to the counter, surveying the remains of what had been a very large offering of breakfast items. He fixed himself a plate of cold scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, a couple pieces of limp bacon and charred sausage, and a lone waffle doused in syrup. The coffee pot at least had plenty to offer, piping hot and too bitter. Cid dumped an excessive amount of sugar and cream into his cup.

"We'll talk shop later," Cid said, carrying his breakfast out to the dining room.

He sat well away from Barret to avoid friendly fire from flying bits of food. Tifa still reclined in her seat, apparently perusing the funnies page, her coffee all but gone.

Cid speared a sausage with his fork. "Where the hell's everybody run off to?"

"The girls went to hang with their friends. Everyone else is… " Tifa waved her hand vaguely. She then peered over the top of her newspaper. "Cloud and Denzel are out shopping for the paaaarty."

"Party?" Cid had a sinking feeling. He couldn't remember the date, couldn't think of any good reasons to summon Valentine for a _party_. "What party."

"Honestly, Cid," Tifa sighed. "You didn't get any of my messages, did you? When's the last time you charged your phone?"

"Uhh..."

He'd been out in the wild for about a week before Vincent showed up and rescued him from the collapsing canyon. His phone ran out of power by day three, stowed away and forgotten at the bottom of his pack. He'd even forgotten to ask if he could charge it at Vincent's place. He always felt liberated going off the grid like that... but from the exasperated glare Tifa had and the amused cackle Barret made, he'd played himself this time.

"Fuck, take pity on an old man," he grumped, shoveling food in his mouth.

Tifa jerked her thumb towards the wall calendar behind her. It showed a pretty autumnal forest surrounding a field of pumpkins. A certain date was circled in red.

"Charge your phone," she advised. "Your job is the same as last time. Don't let him run off."

"Shit no! He avoided me for fuckin' _months_!!"

"You promised, didn't you? To help him feel normal."

Cid gripped his fork tightly, feeling the metal dig into his palm. He stared at his plate. What little appetite he had withered away, leaving him feeling cold and so very tired.

He should have kept his goddamn phone charged. At least that way he could have avoided Tifa's scheming.

At the scrape of a chair sliding back, Cid lifted his head without really looking. Tifa closed the distance between them, laid her hand over his, and gently pried at his fingers until he let go of the fork. An angry red indent marked how tightly he'd been clutching it.

"It's his goddamn day, Tifa," Cid muttered. "If he asks me, I ain't gonna force him to stay."

"Okay." Tifa straightened, sighing and brushing her hair out of her face. "But if he doesn't, then keep him distracted for us."

He grunted, reluctantly acquiescing because it didn't seem like he had a choice in the matter. Tifa rocked on her heels, then spun away, pointing at Barret.

"If you're done pigging out, let's go to work!"

Throughout the entire conversation, Barret stayed silent, busying himself with cleaning his plate. He shot a vaguely apologetic look Cid's way. Cid half-shrugged his left shoulder, averting his gaze.

Tifa and Barret left the room together, leaving Cid to stare moodily at the breakfast he no longer wanted. He didn't miss Barret's low mutter of, "It's jes' a birthday, what's the big deal?" just before the front door open and slammed behind them.

He made himself eat at least half of his food before he gave up. If he was going to go along with this farce, he'd have to find Vincent fast, before the reclusive man vanished into some dank cellar to lurk and wait the day out.

Taking his coffee with him, Cid headed upstairs, returning to their room. He set the mug on the bedside table and retrieved his pack, dumping it out on the bed. His phone and charger were at the very bottom, just like he thought. He plugged it in and set it on the table. The screen lit up, showing 0% battery and charging.

One task done, Cid picked his mug back up, took a drink, and headed out into the hall. He looked both ways, considering whether or not Vincent would have left the building already.

A rustle at the stairs caught his attention. Cait Sith peered down from the upper level, tail twitching between the banister. The mechanical cat waved a gloved paw. Rolling his eyes upwards, taking another deep gulp of coffee to fortify himself, Cid wandered over.

"Hello~! Do you wanna talk yet?" Cait Sith asked.

"Not fuckin' really. Ya seen Vincent 'round?"

"Ohh, I might have heard a rumor. If you can make a wish that has the same number of syllables as these steps, you might find what you're looking for."

Cid closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "Ain't in the mood for ya fuckin' riddles, Reeve."

"Sheesh. It's only a joke!" Cait Sith drooped, ears backed. 

The cat perked up almost immediately as Cid began to climb the stairs. It twisted around without leaving its perch, bright eyed and eager. He stopped on its step, eyeing it warily.

"What?"

"Don't forget to come see my person! The WRO has some veeery interesting things to offer. Aaand maybe you can convince Vincent Valentine to consider, too."

"Everybody fuckin' askin' me to be the goddamn fuckin' go-between man. Shit. Why the fuck! He ain't at my damn beck 'n call."

"No, but you had him aaaall night," Cait Sith chirped, already bouncing down the stairs, out of kicking range.

Briefly, Cid saw red. He gripped the coffee mug and tried to breathe and _not_ throw the damn thing. Tifa would not be the least bit amused to find coffee stains and broken glass later.

" _Fuck_ off, Reeve."

Cid stomped up the stairs, paused to glower around the empty third floor, then went the rest of the way up, to the rooftop. He banged the access door open. It rebounded off the wall and swung shut just as he stepped out past it, a smooth move he couldn't replicate if he tried.

And he came face to face with the barrel of Vincent's gun for the second time in less than 72 hours.

"Cut the shit." Cid pushed the gun to the side with his fingertips. "Ya ain't gonna shoot my ass. That'd be too goddamn _kind_."

Vincent tilted his head, brows rising. He spun the gun, flourishing it, then slid it into its holster. Without a word, he spun away, swinging his cape around, and drifted to the edge of the roof to stand with his arms folded.

"I take it breakfast was a trying affair."

After a deep gulp of coffee, Cid muttered. "Ya have no fuckin' idea."

Cid jammed his free hand in his pocket, sauntering over to stand at Vincent's side. Not too close, though. Cait Sith's insinuation sat uneasily at the back of his mind, making his neck prickle.

No matter what time of year Cid visited Edge, the skies were always an overcast grey, like the smog from Midgar's wreckage would never clear. The air was cool, with a slight breeze ruffling his short hair, but it didn't smell particularly pleasant. He'd never understood living in huge cities, penned in by the stink of too many humans. Couldn't imagine staying in the shadow of the past like Tifa with her Seventh Heaven and Vincent with his cabin behind the mansion…

He refused to think of the tall, spindly shadow of the rusty supports looming over Rocket Town. It wasn't the same, since that dream had a decent ending.

"What did they want?" Vincent asked.

Cid looked over with a shrug. "Yanno what the fuckin' date is, I bet."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Ya wanna ditch this shit hole? Think Reeve's dyin' to give us a job, if ya wanna shoot somethin'."

"It would be more of a hassle to deal with Tifa's nagging than it would be to endure her idea of a good time."

"Fuckin' party hats it is, then, huh?"

Vincent sighed, long, slow, and deeply aggrieved. "It is no worse than everything else I have endured..." He did not sound especially convinced of this.

Cid gave a small, tired smile. "Just say the word and we'll bail." He bent to set the coffee mug on the raised concrete that stood between him and falling off the roof.

Nodding, Vincent eyed Cid out of the corner of his eye. "I assume you have been tasked with babysitting duties."

"Not gonna fuckin' make ya stick 'round me all damn day." Cid pulled out his lighter with vague thoughts of another smoke. He flicked the lid open and closed. "Probably done enough buggin' the shit outta ya fer a whiles. Just, eh, don't leave me in the lurch, yeah?"

“I would never.”

Then Vincent was gone, leaping over the side of the building. Cid snapped his lighter shut, leaning forward to watch the swirl of red that seemed more organic than possible. It darted from wall to wall, landed, and bounded away down the alley, out of sight.

“Gonna be a _long_ fuckin’ day,” Cid muttered to himself, stowing his lighter. Smoking didn’t have any appeal right then.

Instead of giving into the urge to crawl back into bed, Cid went downstairs to tackle the dishes.


	5. fly me up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Vincent! (Only two days late because Sunday funday is update day.)

After completing dish duty, Cid considered his options.

He could loaf about the apartment and rest up in preparation for the explosion of noise and fanfare that was coming later that evening. As tempting as napping was though, the sheer number of hours between then and now made his palms itch and his mouth dry.

Playing tourist in Edge held little appeal--the city wasn't much to look at, and aside from a few parks, its brand of tourism largely fell to plying visitors with food and drink. He didn't care to waste the day looking for the other members of AVALANCHE, either. The chance to talk to them would come later, whether he wanted it or not.

Though, Reeve and Cait Sith were probably lurking somewhere in the building, eagerly waiting to talk his ear off about whatever job opportunities. Cid did plenty of work with the WRO aboard the _Shera_ ; no doubt Reeve's offerings would align with his own moonlighting to fix the planet's problems. If nothing else, it might be good to tell someone with more resources about the evidence of drilling...

He wandered upstairs, chewing on the filter of a new cigarette. At his door, he paused, frowning, as the irritation over Cait Sith's insinuations washed over him again. No, he decided, he wasn't in the mood to play anymore games with Reeve today.

Kicking the bedroom door open, and then shut behind him, he went to the bed, eyeing the stuff still spilled out over the top. He was being ridiculous, like a moody teenager, messy room and all.

It felt like those long, awful years of thinking his dream would rust away to nothing, always looming in the background and always tempting him to waste more hours and more gil tinkering with it.

This time, though, he had everything he could want-- the dream fulfilled, a decent job with more options on the horizon, an incredible airship and crew, not one but many planes, the means to build whatever he wanted, friends all over the world...

And still he wasn't satisfied.

Frowning, he grabbed his spear and sat on a clean corner of the bed, intent on sorting through his tin of materia for a decent set up. He didn't know what, if anything, he'd be doing next, so he went with a fairly all purpose load out, figuring he could change it once he knew what to expect. He made sure to insert a Cure, at least, so he wouldn't have to rely on Vincent's less than gentle care.

Then he propped the spear against the wall between the bed and table and packed everything else back into his bag. He shoved the bag under the bed. The task hadn't kept him busy for more than ten minutes.

His phone caught his eye. It was fully charged. Knowing that it would vibrate relentlessly for the sheer number of calls and texts missed, Cid pressed the power button without picking it up. While he waited for it to load and rattle across the tabletop, he got his lighter out and finally lit the cigarette he'd been abusing. He moved to the armchair, shoving the window open out of some vague sense of respect for Tifa's house, even if the city smells weren't much better than smoke.

When the phone finally quieted its racket, Cid picked it up and tapped through to check his inbox. He had about twenty missed calls and double that in texts. Most of them were from Tifa and Shera, though there were plenty of miscellaneous ones, too. Even Vincent had tried to call him once, the day of the canyon's collapse.

Cid still couldn't figure out how Vincent had tracked him down. Luck, maybe.

As expected, Tifa's messages focused on warnings that Vincent's birthday was coming up, and good natured warnings that she'd kick his ass if he missed it. Cheekily, he tapped out a reply, {All charged up boss}.

She pinged back a minute later with, {good keep it that way u jerk}.

He snorted, smiling into his fist, and once again considered how he'd have to start taking portable power banks with him. Since he never knew how long he'd be out in the little planes without pit stops, he didn't like to waste their all too precious power charging his phone. The _Shera_ was different, not only designed to support every aspect of an entire crew's everyday life, but on strict time tables that meant it was always on the way to the next fuel up. He tapped the side of his phone against his leg, gaze distant.

With a sigh and a couple more puffs of nicotine, Cid turned his attention to the messages Shera had left. She started with text, not sounding too worried. Updates on work shit he'd need to look over when he got back, inquiries about when he'd be back, the usual. When he never responded, she switched to voicemail, increasingly concerned that something had happened.

He quashed the memory of their last in person conversation just like the half-finished cigarette in the ashtray. She wanted things he couldn't give. Things he'd _thought_ he'd made plain were never going to happen. And he'd been too chickenshit to repeat himself.

Reluctantly, he tapped out a short text. {Vin found me. At Tifa's}

Since Shera was a busy woman who _didn't_ shirk her duties, unlike him, she likely wouldn't see the text until later. He still didn't know what to say, though he knew he owed her the decency of an explanation. In person, preferably.

After that, he had an assortment of texts and voicemails from other people-- Cloud warning him to mind Tifa's growing impatience, Barret asking about meeting up sometime for drinks, coworkers and crew members with various updates. Cid worked his way through all of them, giving short replies that promised nothing.

When he was finished, the beginnings of a tension headache settled behind his eyes, a dull throb. Cid slouched back in the chair, eyes shut. Nicotine wouldn't help. Caffeine might, or it might exacerbate the problem. Sluggishly, he decided water and a nap was his best bet.

But first, he sent out one last text, to Reeve. {Heard anything about drilling for mako?}

The reply came instantly, like Reeve had been _waiting_. {What have you found, Captain?}

{Personal drill, n of Cosmo. no one around}

{So the reports of a canyon collapse and a small aircraft leaving the area... that was you? What happened?}

{Dynamite to seal sweet pea's boo-boo}

{Gaia's tits, Cid.}

{Its fine}

{I will look into this. We need to talk in person.}

{Later}

Cid tossed his phone onto the bed, then left the room in search of water. The apartment remained mostly empty, though Red XIII eyed him from the couch in the living room. Cid waved and moved along before he could get sucked into a conversation that was sure to be awkward. Red was a good... whatever he was, but Cid always felt one swear word from disappointing.

The fridge contained an entire shelf of bottled waters, sports drinks, and juices, bless Tifa. Cid grabbed a water and retreated to his room, where he stayed in bed for the rest of the afternoon, dozing off and on as his headache grew.

He didn't know what time Vincent came back, only that blessedly cool metal pressed against his forehead. Reaching sluggishly, he caught the mechanical wrist and held it there.

"Headache, Chief?" Vincent's voice had an odd gentle quality, but maybe Cid's foggy brain grasped for straws, there on the edge of consciousness.

"Like a fuckin' freight train," he mumbled.

He cracked an eye open, and immediately regretted with a groan, clamping it shut again. The light stabbed through his retina, straight into his brain and, weirdly, made the world seem like it had rocked off-kilter.

"Looks like you might miss the party. Is there something I can get you?"

"Ugh." Cid released Vincent's wrist with reluctance, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Pills. Bag."

Vincent withdrew, casting around the room. A rattle near the windows cut off the warm afternoon light, casting the room into more tolerable gloom. Cid let out a relieved sigh, easing his hands away from his face. His vision was blurry and doubled as he watched Vincent pace the room, searching.

"Where did you hide it?"

"...under," Cid flopped his hand off the edge of the bed. "Front pocket."

Vincent knelt by the bed, dragging the bag out. The rattle of bottles made Cid sit up a little. He didn't have much, just two prescriptions-- one for migraines, and one for nights when sleep eluded him. Vincent knew which was which, and tapped out one into Cid's waiting hand. After putting the bottles and bag back the way they were, Vincent passed the lukewarm bottle of water over.

Cid downed the pill quickly, and though the water had taken a gross coppery flavor for sitting out, he chugged about half of it.

"My hero," he croaked, smiling lopsidedly. He sank back into the pillows, eyes closed, to wait for the medicine to take effect. "Y'wanna hole up? Mebbe I'll feel better in time..."

"Wouldn't dream of attending without you, Chief."

Wriggling over to make room, Cid draped his arm over his face. Vincent sat next to him, leaning on his gauntlet, with one leg drawn up, arm braced on his knee. Each time Cid drifted off, he woke to the other man resolutely watching the door, a sentinel guarding against the inevitable festivities.

Little by little, the light faded away and the apartment filled with the muffled noise of too many people.

At some point, there came a knock at the door. Vincent rose to answer it quickly, and he and Tifa exchanged low words. Later, she came back with cold water, a wet rag, and the gentle admonishment to "Feel better, honestly, picking now of all times...!"

Cid laughed weakly, but accepted her offerings and her concern with a mumbled thanks. She wasn't really upset with him. His headaches had always been a thing, a holdover from his rarely spoken of military days as a youth.

He heard Vincent say, "You should get started without us," and, "I will come down for the cake, regardless."

This seemed to mollify Tifa enough that she left without a fuss.

Then it was just the two of them, blessed darkness, and barely a handbreadth of space between. Cid reached out, caught the loose fabric of Vincent's pants and gave a light tug.

"Ain't got a present, and this kinda sucks."

Vincent chuckled, low and breathy. "I don't need presents."

"I know." It was hard to think through the fog, even as the pain finally began to recede. "Anyway... Ya want a favor or somethin'?"

"Maybe later."

A gloved hand smoothed through his damp hair. He shifted towards it, sighing out, "'Kay."

An hour, maybe two, later there came another knock, one that didn't shake the door in the frame. Cloud, this time, with a mug of tea.

"S'posed to drag you down," he said, apologetic. "Brought, uh, tea for the captain."

Vincent stood aside, holding the door open long enough for Cloud to enter. He softly shut it after, cutting off the light that streamed in. Cloud paused, giving himself a moment for his eyes to adjust. Like Vincent's, they sometimes seemed to glow, though his were an eerie blue. Cid pushed himself up on shaky arms, scooting til his back was to the headboard.

"Don't suppose you got a heal that'll work on shitty headaches." Cid took the offered mug of tea, cradling it between his hands. The warmth felt incredible.

"Afraid not," Cloud answered, with an amused scoff. He twisted around to watch Vincent cross the room and take up his post on the bed. "You coming, or resisting the lure of cake?"

"Undecided."

Aware of two sets of odd eyes watching him, Cid took his first sip of tea. "Yeah, yeah, give a man a minute to enjoy his fuckin' drink."

Cloud, ever the weird one, took that as his cue to lean against a wall. Vincent continued to sit, artfully posed, at Cid's side. It wasn't the most awkward cup of tea ever, but it came close.

"Shit, alright, let's do this."

He put the mug down on the table a little roughly, rattling it, but managed not to drop it. Then he got up, hand braced against the headboard, and didn't move until the vertigo passed. His legs were somewhat shaky, but he made it across the room unassisted, though Cloud was right at his elbow, ready to steady him. Vincent hung back, though his gaze remained sharp and fixed on Cid.

They made for an odd procession going down the stairs, with Cid hissing curses at Cloud's fussiness, Cloud persisting in being over-watchful and close, and Vincent trailing behind. The whole gaggle of AVALANCHE, family, and friends let out excited cheers to see them. Cid screwed his face up at the throb of pain, and didn't resist when Cloud took him by the elbow and pulled him to a stool in a dark corner.

Vincent, meanwhile, got swarmed and manhandled into place at the head of the dining table. Tifa marched a huge cake out, with an absurd number of candles jammed into chocolate frosting. The whole lot of them sang, out of tune and out of time, and Cid concentrated very hard on not throwing up as every sound reverberated.

Despite how miserable he felt, he did not miss the way red eyes never left him when the candles were blown out.

Then plates got passed around, each loaded with a slice of cake and a scoop of neapolitan ice cream. Cid picked at his, amused that the cake was strawberry beneath the chocolate frosting. He stayed in his seat when the procession kidnapped Vincent to the other room for presents.

Sometime after the third present opening and subsequent loud amusement from the crowd, Cloud took his barely touched plate and replaced it with another mug of tea. He must have begged off from the festivities with the excuse of cleaning up, since he cleared away leftovers in record time.

"When'd ya get so damn considerate?" Cid wondered, clutching his tea like a lifeline as he followed Cloud into the kitchen to claim a stool near the counter.

"Somewhere between kid two and three," Cloud said, with an uncertain smile and a shrug. He leaned on his elbows against the counter, head tilted towards the noise from the other room. "You look like Vincent probably feels."

"Hah. Like shit, huh?"

"Yeah."

Neither man said anything else for a while, each lost in their own world, looking at nothing in particular. Cloud, as ever, sucked horribly at small talk, and Cid just couldn't muster the energy to keep the conversation going.

Eventually, the hubbub in the other room evened out. Maybe presents were done with. Cloud stood, looked meaningfully at Cid, then left the kitchen. Supposing he hadn't done much to support Vincent in these trying times, Cid eased off of the stool and ventured to the living room to lean in the doorway.

Vincent sat on a couch, Shelke on one side chattering away, Marlene on the other, carefully braiding his hair. A veritable pile of gifts and cards sat on the coffee table in front of him, the wrapping paper already stuffed in a trash bag off to the side.

Tifa perched on an armchair, leaning forward to chat to Rude, who sat in the chair opposite of her. Reno sprawled against Rude's side, hanging off the arm of the chair and gesturing animatedly at Reeve, who had Cait Sith in his lap. Cloud braced his arms on the back of Tifa's chair, looking distant but relaxed. Barret seemed to be getting his ass kicked a board game with Denzel and Yuffie, while Red XIII watched, occasionally offering advice.

It _was_ surreal, Cid thought, meeting Vincent's gaze. He lifted his mug, taking a sip of tea, and angled his head back the way he'd come in silent askance.

Vincent murmured something softly to Shelke when she paused to take a breath. Immediately, a pout appeared on her face, but then she nodded and bumped shoulders with him, likely admonishing him to visit more. Marlene tied off the braid with a pretty red bow, releasing Vincent from her tender care. She waved at Cid, and he waved back.

Standing, Vincent drew the attention of most of the room. "Thank you, it has been... a night."

"Oh go on, you flatterer," Tifa laughed.

Vincent grabbed the corners of his cloak, lifting it to form a makeshift sling for his loot. Shelke and Marlene were happy to help pile everything in. Everyone else bid their farewells, a few with knowing looks and less-than-subtle insinuations that made Cid want to snap.

Then they were free, going upstairs with no one watching or prying. Cid shouldered the bedroom door open, held it for Vincent, then shut it with a sigh. He didn't turn the light on.

"Sorry I wasn't much help."

Vincent shook his head, upending the gifts onto the armchair. Some of it slipped right off, spilling out onto the floor, but he didn't seem inclined to pay it any mind, turning towards Cid. The street light shone in narrow bars from the window behind him, casting Vincent's face in shadow.

Red eyes gleamed too bright, pinning Cid against the door. He fiddled with his half-empty mug, flicking the tea tag.

"That... favor you offered," Vincent said, slow and low.

"Yeah?"

"I would like to watch the sunrise."

"Oh. Here?"

Vincent shook his head. "The smog will make for an unsatisfactory view." He lifted his gauntlet, the light glinting off of it, and motioned towards the bed. "If you are up for leaving tomorrow, then I will give you the location."

"Sure, no problem."

Feeling like he'd been released from capture, Cid walked over to the bed, depositing his mug on the bedside table to be forgotten about until morning. He kicked out of his jeans, pretending Vincent wasn't watching, and then pretended he didn't watch Vincent shed everything but pants and shirt, didn't watch him settle on the bed in a graceful sprawl, didn't watch him stretch out, flesh hand settling over dog tags and heart beat.

Neither of them slept much that night, dozing and listening to the other occupants of the apartment party late into the night. When at last the revelry died down and the last person had returned to their room, Cid shifted closer to Vincent.

"Think I might take Reeve up on whatever shit he needs doin'."

Vincent opened his eyes, peering across the expanse of blankets at Cid. "It will be a foolish, altruistic endeavor," he said, after a long time, after Cid had begun to fidget a little under the stare.

"Yeah, probably."

"Hmm." Vincent closed his eyes again. "Always so reckless, Highwind."


	6. on a silver wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings - #shotgun, but without the weed

They left Tifa's in the morning, hoping to avoid prolonged farewells by taking off early. Cid helped himself to a bottle of grape juice, a couple waters, some power bars, a tupperware of leftovers, and a spoon, figuring his friends would forgive him.

Despite the early hour, Tifa ambushed them at the door, dressed in chocobo print pajama bottoms and a too large, faded Loveless shirt.

“Hey! No goodbyes?” she chided.

Cid rubbed the back of his neck. “Ehh… Sorry, Tifa.”

She brandished her phone at them. “I never got a new picture of the both of you!”

One of the Seventh Heaven’s walls was lined with photographs of her friends and families, old and new. She added to it with every major event, especially birthdays.

Exchanging glances, the two men shrugged and shuffled closer, standing on the front step with early dawn light framing them. Tifa beamed, raising her phone to snap a few shots. Cid looked over at Vincent, brows up, and then grinned because Marlene’s braid was intact, though coming loose. He flicked at the ribbon, earning a sidelong look in return. Tifa probably snapped the whole exchange.

“Okay. Fly safe, guys, and _actually_ keep in touch this time!”

Cid grinned, sheepish. Vincent only nodded, already turning away.

With that, they were free to leave Edge.

Vincent made a brief stop at the post office to ship his presents to Nibelheim, keeping only two books and Rude's thoughtful gift of three cartons of explosive rounds. The early morning airport staff gave them more than a few strange looks for their weaponry, but no one stopped them.

After they stowed their cargo in the _Altitude_ , Cid produced a map, laying it out on the floor. Vincent tapped on a cove near Mt. Nibel, then climbed up into the plane, taking his seat. Cid eyed the spot, remembering previous visits.

He didn't voice the concern that this time, Vincent wouldn't leave the cave and the past behind.

Folding up the map, he tucked it into his jacket, slid the plane's back door shut, and went to the front to get into the pilot's seat. He strapped in, primed the engines, and looked over to Vincent.

"Ready?"

"Mhm."

Cid hailed the air tower, letting them direct him through take off. Once in the air, he turned the plane's nose southwest, retracing their route back towards Mt. Nibel.

He spent the whole flight jonesing for a cigarette, tapping out an idle rhythm against the yoke. Drinking the juice and eating a powerbar didn't help much. Vincent produced a bag of hard candy from somewhere, keeping the red ones to himself.

Mouthing at a sour apple one, Cid raised his brows. "Why strawberry, anyway?"

Vincent blinked at him. "... It is my favorite."

"Huh."

"I have not been secretive about it."

Shrugging, Cid gestured his hand in front of him, maybe indicating the whole expanse of the world before them, like it had preoccupied him too much to take note of what his friends liked to eat. Maybe he should have. Even way back when, Aeris insisted on milkshakes after important victories, always giving Vincent the pink one… Had others been doing the same, making sure Vincent ate _something_ with more success than Cid’s own blunt way of shoving a plate of whatever he was having at Vincent?

Vincent gave a soft snort-- of amusement, not irritation.

"Whatever, man, this just means I'll have to drag your ass to a strawberry festival."

"A what now."

Grinning, Cid pointed without lifting his hand from the yoke. "Before Mideel got fucked up from the lifestream, and then fucked by that goddamn Weapon, they grew a shit ton of strawberries. Growing season all year round, right?"

"...Did you acquire time travel materia I should know about?"

"Nah. That'd be real fuckin’ sweet, right? They rebuilt, couple miles away. Doin' better'n they were, no damn shacks, lots of newer residents 'cuz of all the refugees from Midgar."

"Hm." Vincent rested his temple against the window, gazing at the passing scenery far below. "When?"

"It's in the spring. Not sure the dates."

"I would... like that," Vincent said, barely audible over the buzz of the engine. He studied Cid out of the corner of his eye, face tucked into his mantle. "If you have not lost interest by then."

"No worries, we'll go!"

Vincent closed his eyes, and didn't open them for several minutes. His expression was hidden by hair and mantle, but Cid’s bets were on pleasure, not annoyance or reluctance. The guy didn't look tense; he looked like he might have a cat nap.

Humming, Cid checked their bearings, then refocused on the horizon. Whatever Vincent wanted at the cave hidden behind a waterfall, it was the least Cid could do to see him there in time.

The clock on the dash read 1733 when his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. It did so twice, then rang with the melancholy chorus of “Mary Jane’s Last Dance”, which he'd assigned to Shera's number.

"Shit," Cid growled, fumbling for the phone to switch it to airplane mode.

Vincent's sleepy voice asked, "Alright, Chief?" The dark haired man had taken to dozing in the last couple of hours, having finished another book.

"Yeah. Fuckin' forgot to turn my shit off. Shouldn't be a problem, but, yanno." Cid made a kind of coasting motion with his hand.

His planes were built tougher than ShinRa trash, which would go into a tailspin at the first hint of a PHS--nevermind a _cellphone_ \--but that didn't mean he liked to run the risk of key interference with ground control when he might need it.

"Oh." Vincent sat up a little, patting at himself. He produced his battered phone, frowned at it, then shrugged, sinking back into his seat. "I seem to have forgotten to charge mine."

"Hah. Some pair we are. Gonna get yelled at later."

"Mm." Peering out into the dark beyond the low light of their cabin, Vincent asked, "How far away are we?"

"Hour and forty minutes, give or take."

Vincent nodded, tapping his dead phone against his knee. After a moment, he tucked it away, twisting in his seat to study Cid. "Would you be willing to fly to Nibelheim after I am done paying my respects?"

"Am I sleepin' on yer shitty couch?"

That got him a small huff, red eyes squinted shut. "No, I think I will be fine to share, unless you'd rather inflict my 'shitty' couch on me out of petty revenge."

"Pssht, I ain't a mean bastard like you."

"No," Vincent agreed, soft and unbothered. He relaxed back into his chair, and gazed out the windshield for the rest of the flight.

Landing outside the waterfall cave was a pain in the ass in broad daylight. Doing it at night was another thing entirely. The _Altitude_ didn't possess pontoons to allow for landing in the cove itself, where the broad expanse of water would make for a very cushy landing. Furthermore, the only land around the cave not covered in the jagged cliffs and rocks Mt. Nibel was known for was a narrow cliff jutting out over the water. From experience, Cid knew it was just wide enough for the _Altitude_ , with maybe a foot or two to spare.

"Ya better be real fuckin' impressed with me after this," Cid said.

Though primarily a small cargo plane, the _Altitude_ was frequently used for rescue missions. It came with state of the art spotlights and a pulley system that could be used to lower rescuers and bring victims to safety. While Cid _could_ drop Vincent off and pick him up later, these visits were never a predictable length.

So he flew low and slow, eyes strained to take in everything as the lights revealed details. He made two passes before trying to set down. The plane came to a stop just short of where the cliff narrowed and slanted down behind the waterfall. Water splattered the right wing and windows.

"I am duly impressed," Vincent said, stiffly releasing his grip on the arms of his seat. He cast a look down at the tear in the left one. "And sorry."

"Ehh, whatever. Duct tape'll fix it." Cid went through landing procedures, flicking switches and powering the engines down. "You'll wanna get out on my side, might be hangin' too close to the edge there..."

Vincent eased out of his seat, stepping over the console between them, and went to the cargo door. He hesitated, talons tapping against the handle.

“I will try not to be long. We'll see the sunrise at my house.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Then Vincent slid the door open. The roar of the waterfall doubled, filling the cabin. The plane rocked slightly as Vincent hopped out and shut the door. The sound became muffled again.

Cid waited until he saw the flash of gold and red vanish behind falling water before opening his door and sliding out on wobbly legs. He stretched slowly, groaning, and reached up to snap the lights off. His eyes adjusted slowly. For the next hour or so, he leaned against the side of the plane, smoking and stargazing.

And he did not worry endlessly at the old gnarled thoughts of _what if Vincent didn’t come back out_. Refused to even think of it. Filled his head up with complex aeronautical equations, chewed at his lips between puffs of smoke. Anything to not be a damn worry wart, not go blundering in behind that waterfall to see the strange cluster of crystals and that woman’s body, trapped until the end of time.

His thoughts became static, a muffled buzz beneath the ceaseless pounding of water on rocks, the pings of drops hitting the plane, the rushing of the waves carrying away all sense of time.

Later, Vincent returned, quiet and distant but not tense. “Take me home,” was all he said, climbing back into the plane to take his seat.

So Cid did, flying back to Nibelheim, away from that damned cave and his miserable thoughts. He landed out in the fields and eased the _Altitude_ into roughly the same place he'd parked the _Mini Bronco_ before. The walk to the cabin was silent, neither having the energy after such a long, exhausting flight.

As promised, Vincent let him up into the loft, their things in a heap by the ladder. Cid claimed one of the softer pillows. Vincent claimed the wall, laying with his back pressed to it like he expected a fight. His hand curled around the dog tags, knuckles against Cid’s heartbeat.

“I’ll wake you for the sunrise.”

“Alright,” Cid murmured, already dozing.

Morning came between one blink and the next, so fast that it left him groggy. Vincent pushed at him, urging him down the ladder. While Cid stumbled out back for the outhouse, Vincent made tea. He pressed the warm mug into Cid’s hand the minute he came back inside.

“Fuckin’ rained again,” Cid complained, kicking off his muddy boots by the back door. His bare legs were damp, and he swiped one-handedly at them to little avail.

“Mhm.”

At some point, Vincent undid Marlene’s braid, letting his hair curl in loose waves. The ribbon hung around his mechanical wrist, matching the one tied over the dark sleeve on his other arm. He lacked the rest of his gear, the cloak and everything else, making him look as much at ease as he ever did.

The urge to ask why a sunrise, why with him, lurked behind his teeth. Cid smothered it with tea, following Vincent out to the front porch.

They sat together, potted plants shoved aside to make room under one of the windows, and watched the morning fog melt away with the sunrise. There was too much distance between them, Cid felt, but he didn't press it. Instead he lit a cigarette and focused on the warm burn of nicotine in his lungs.

Vincent tipped his head towards Cid, sluggishly lifting his gauntlet, palm upturned and claws slightly curled. Cid eyed the offered limb for a second, taking another drag, then relinquished the cigarette. He half expected it to be flicked away into the big, muddy puddle at the base of the porch steps. Or dropped into the cooling mug of tea between Cid’s legs.

Vincent did no such thing, carefully pinching the filter between pointed fingertips to bring it to his own lips. The burning tip of the cigarette flared as he took a puff, a glowing orange counterpoint to the way Vincent's eyes gleamed too bright. His eyelids fluttered, face tilting down as he exhaled slowly, blowing smoke out.

Cid stared, something twisting in his gut, then looked away. The sunrise wasn't anything impressive, muted colors obscured by the trees, but it was calming.

An insistent nudge of cool metal against his shoulder made him look back at Vincent. He started at how close the pale man leaned, their faces inches from one another. His lips parted, but the curse was muffled when Vincent closed the distance, sealing their lips together to breathe smoke into Cid's mouth. Cid sucked it down greedily, and when they parted, he tipped his head back to blow it out from his nose in a ragged gasp, unable to deny the way his blood thrummed a little too hot and loud under his skin.

"Fuck, Vince-- w-what are we doin'?"

"Sharing a cigarette," came the bland reply.

Cid shot a glare over at Vincent, then barked a laugh as he saw the faint smile curling the corners of the other man's lips.

"Hell of a way to start the day." Cid raised his brows suggestively, nodding at the dwindling cigarette still clenched between talons, mostly ash now.

Vincent tapped the ash away, took another drag, and leaned over to pass the smoke between their mouths again. Cid hummed, grabbing the front of Vincent's shirt so he could kiss properly after. Vincent stilled, and for a moment Cid thought he might have gone too far, but then Vincent was shifting, slanting their lips together, tongue darting out to invite more. Cid was all too happy to follow Vincent's lead through a warm glide of tongue and lips, breath hot between them. Languid and easy, like they'd been doing this for years.

Vincent broke away first, but he didn't pull away. He rested his forehead against Cid's shoulder, taking deep, steady breaths.

Cid stayed put, eyes on the ceiling above. He'd released Vincent's shirt, curling a hand at the base of the other man's skull, fingers threaded in dark hair. His other hand was braced on the ground next to Vincent's claw, the forgotten butt leaving a charred mark on the wooden floor between their fingers.

His thoughts were a disorganized jumble, lust and concern at odds with one another. He couldn't remember how long he'd wanted this, couldn't tell if it was safe to act on it. They'd been friends so long that he couldn't imagine his life without Vincent's particular brand of weird.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Are we okay?"

Vincent stiffened, pulling away to look down at Cid with rising alarm. His face was mostly blank but for the widening of eyes, like he couldn't quite get through the rest of the expression. "Why, was it-- you did not--"

"No, no," Cid hurried to say, waving his hands as if to physically dismiss the fear. "I just, shit, I wanted to make sure you were-- Fuck, I dunno, _comfortable_ with this, not gonna run off to brood and, and... not be friends anymore. Shit, I'm fuckin' this up."

As he spoke, Vincent's shoulders sank, the tension fading. Red eyes closed momentarily. Vincent inhaled, then leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Cid's mouth.

"You are ridiculous, Cid Highwind. I do nothing if not by my own will."

Then he was up, pushing his way into the cabin, leaving Cid to blink and struggle to process an overwhelming amount of emotion, most of it warm and squirmy and not a little bit embarrassing.

After his nerves calmed down, Cid came inside, found Vincent near the ladder, watching him warily.

"Hey," Cid said.

A slow squint of red eyes was the answer. Cid grinned, knowing for certain now that Vincent was a goddamn cat, hiding his smiles in displays of letting his guard down. He wandered over, leaving the cold tea mug on one of the tables near the couch.

He thought about asking, _how fast,_ maybe asking to fool around, but Vincent opened his eyes again, watching. Instead of pushing, Cid jerked his head up, towards the loft.

"It's fuckass early and I'm tired. Can we get back to sleepin'?"

"Alright."

They tumbled into bed, clothes firmly in place, no funny business involved. Cid's heart thrummed wildly all the same, knowing now that maybe Vincent hadn't just been checking to make sure he was still alive, fighting off the delusion of being utterly and totally alone, trapped in that damn coffin again, dreaming up the whole of reality and everyone in it to torment himself. Maybe the way fingers splayed over the thudding beat had always been a declaration of intent, in Vincent's strange, roundabout way.

His eyes drooped closed, unable to stay awake even for philosophical musings over their complicated relationship. The slight curl of fingers against his chest soothed him into gentle dreams.


	7. past the black

Vincent was the kind of person who kept the wine rack above his fridge filled, but didn't possess any wine glasses. And, more annoyingly, he owned a shovel, but nothing to cut grass with.

Cid surveyed the overgrown backyard, tapping a toothpick against his mouth. His chance of the easy distraction of manual labor wouldn't happen. Not unless someone in town had a mower and didn't mind associating with the weird guy currently perched up on the roof, staring pensively off into the distance while his cloak streamed behind him like a banner.

Whatever was bothering Vincent, he'd been up there since before Cid woke up, and it didn't look like he was coming down anytime soon. Used to his friend's moods, Cid had shrugged and fed himself and investigated the bath. It was surprisingly well maintained, and he'd had a nice shower.

With a long afternoon to fill, he was trying to think of what to do with himself. Anything to avoid having to turn his phone back on.

Biting down on the toothpick, Cid huffed. "Fuck it." He dug his phone out of his pocket and turned it on.

It buzzed only three times after loading missed messages. On top of the two from Shera he'd missed during the flight, she'd left one more.

{I'm glad you're safe, Captain.  
Can I call you?  
We need to talk. Please.}

Cid gazed at the messages until his eyes unfocused, the image blurring and doubling. Then he blinked, growled at himself, dragged his hand through his hair, pulling at strands. He was so fucking selfish.

Quickly, before he could second guess and put it off, he replied, {sorry was flying. home in a couple days. will talk.}

The other messages were from Reeve.

{We never got a chance to exchange notes! Tell me where we can meet up.}

This was easier to deal with. He _wanted_ to know what jobs Reeve and the WRO could offer him. Needed to get away from idle down times where it seemed he couldn't do anything but fall into a tailspin, uselessly picking at projects that didn't interest but were expected of him or going off into the wilderness his own for weeks on end.

{At vincent's. not sure how long. coming home soon}

As always, Reeve was fast in his replies, like he _wasn't_ one of the busiest men on the planet. {I can be in Nibelheim tomorrow.}

{Great. see you}

Cid shoved his phone in his pocket, fumbled for a cigarette, and called up to Vincent, in case he was present enough to listen. "Reeve'll be in town tomorrow."

No reply.

His phone buzzed just after he clamped a cigarette between his teeth. Rolling his eyes, he fished it back out, eying the notification.

Shera.

{Okay. Thank you. See you then, Captain.}

"Yer a goddamn saint, lady," Cid muttered, swiping the notification away.

If it were him putting up with such bullshit behavior, he'd have... well, he couldn't say. They'd been friends so long that maybe up and cutting contact off after an explosive argument wasn't feasible. They were practically family. Maybe they were stuck with each other, bound not by vows and rings but by shared time and frustration, hollowing each other out until they couldn't get along without the other.

"Hell, hangin' out with ya too much, Vince, gettin' weird broody ideas."

The scrape of boots on the roof tiles above alerted him to Vincent finally reacting. He looked up as the tall man's shadow slanted out over the yard. Red eyes met blue.

"Sorry," Vincent said.

Cid waved it off with an "mm-uh," trailing smoke from the cigarette between thumb and forefinger. Then he crooked his pinkie, and waited with baited breath to see if Vincent would come down.

He did, twisting through the air in a graceful display of acrobatics. The cloak flapped like bird's wings, then settled around him without any further effort on his part. So damn impressive and unreal, like he was the dark anti-hero that stepped out of a five gil pulp magazine.

Cid offered the cigarette, eyebrow raised. Vincent shook his head slightly, but stepped closer, crowding Cid against the side of the house.

"Hey." Cid tipped his head back to meet Vincent's gaze.

Their height difference never bothered him. He had more width than Vincent, all soft fat over thick muscle. If not for the super strength granted by the fucked up shit Hojo did, they might have been evenly matched. As it was, knowing Vincent could break him in two without trying had its own thrill.

Vincent leaned down, nosing into the crook of Cid's neck. Both hands came up, grasping at Cid's shirt. The sound of ripping marked the talons cutting fabric. He stilled except for his breathing.

"Not doin' too hot, huh?" Cid turned his face just enough away that he could finish his cigarette.

As if this was normal for them, and not new with all the potential of going somewhere unknown.

"No, I am..." Vincent took a deep, shuddering breath. "I hear her voice. Still apologizing, still... I thought I could. That she would rest easier, knowing that I. That I was not..."

Cid hooked his arm around Vincent's waist, loose and not giving into the urge to yank him close. He flicked the cigarette into the mud, brought his other hand up to the back of Vincent's head, noting the sweaty, greasy feel.

Vincent tensed, hands tightening, but did not retreat.

"Maybe we oughta get you cleaned up, get some food in ya. Feel a lil more, eh..." Normal wasn't the word. Neither of them were normal, not after all the shit they'd been through, before, during, and after Meteorfall. "...present."

"I. Yes. In a while. If you don't--"

"I don't mind. Yer pace."

Some of the tension in Vincent's shoulders eased. He sank more fully onto Cid, making the shorter man hold him upright. They stayed that way long enough that Cid's body began to ache for maintaining the awkward posture, cabin siding digging into his spine.

Cid couldn't help but shift, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing Vincent. It didn't work. Vincent pulled away, freezing at the tug of tangled cloth wrapped around his talons. He looked so alarmed and befuddled and then _sad_ , regarding the mess he'd made of Cid's shirt.

"Ehh, don't worry 'bout it." Cid took him by the wrist and began to untangle the ragged strips from in between the plated joints. "Just a throw away, meant fer ruinin'."

Vincent nodded dully, and once he was freed, took a step back, flexing the gauntlet. His gaze was distant.

"Ya gonna be okay while I get ya some towels?" Cid asked.

Vincent tucked his chin with a quiet, "Mhm."

All the same, Cid didn't dawdle around. He hurried inside, over to the dresser, and dug out not only towels but a change of clothes. Everything Vincent wore was black and more or less practical for fighting and nothing else. He still hadn't gotten around to the idea of casual wear.

Cid went back outside, the bundle against his belly. The bath door was open; Vincent perched on the edge of the tub, tapping the buckles of his cape with tired, nervous energy. He looked up, wary, when Cid stepped inside.

They had a system, established all the way back during the crisis. Vincent would go as long as he possibly could without a real bath, making do with sponging off. On longer missions, they were always knee deep in nasty shit anyway. When Cid found out that Vincent didn't do it because he disliked baths, or because he was being weird and stubborn, but because it was, as Vincent reluctantly admitted, _a painful amount of effort,_ what with the gauntlet, the self image issues, and constant physical aches that Vincent ignored... Well, there hadn't been anything for it but to help when allowed.

Cid set the pile of clothes and towels on the edge of the sink. He approached Vincent, staying just out of reach until the gauntlet was held out to him. Then he came closer and bent to undo all of the buckles and straps without revealing anything. He worked the sleeve loose and over the gauntlet, letting Vincent tuck the false arm inside his shirt.

"Need anything else?"

"No."

"'Kay. I'll be outside, holler if ya need help."

"Thank you."

Cid retreated, shutting the door behind him, and leaned against the wall to wait. Inside, he knew Vincent would be able to wiggle the rest of the way out of his clothes and hopefully wash up without too much trouble. 

Not that anyone would ever believe it, but Cid had never been allowed to see more than anyone else--hands, arms, neck, and face. No one but Vincent knew what kind of marks covered his body. He wondered if that would change, and didn't know if he would mind if it didn't. His curiosity had long since withered up. Whatever new direction their relationship was taking, he didn't figure on forcing Vincent out if his comfort zone.

Bathing took Vincent almost two hours. Cid never left his post, piling cigarette butts at his feet. When the door finally swung open, it revealed a shaking, still damp Vincent slouched under his cape, gauntlet tucked against his belly, none of the clothes done up right. Cid moved quick and business-like, setting everything to rights with his eyes averted from any chance of bared flesh.

Vincent actually leaned against him, making no protest at being half-dragged inside and manhandled onto the couch. He snagged Cid’s belt with his good hand, tugging. Cid abandoned ideas of making lunch in favor of sitting at the end of the couch. Vincent moved slow, laying down with his head against Cid’s thigh, and tugged his cloak around himself.

This much weakness was something Vincent almost never trusted anyone else with. Cid rested his hand against damp black hair, struggling with awe and concern, affection and fear.

“We're doin’ real damn good lately, huh, Vince?”

A hollow scoff that might have been a weak attempt at a laugh was his answer. And then silence, stretching out into the long, agonizingly slow afternoon.

Little by little, Vincent pulled himself together. He picked vaguely at food when Cid put it in front of him, and when it came time to go to bed, he tugged Cid up into the loft and curled around him.

It rained in the middle of the night again. Cid woke to the crash of thunder, feeling as though he’d forgotten something important. Vincent shifted against him but did not wake. Lightning flashed, flooding the cabin with blinding light.

“Shit,” Cid muttered, untangling himself. He wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep until he took care of it.

“Hn… Chief?”

“Forgot somethin’.”

Vincent sat up to watch him climb down from the loft, leaning over the railing. Cid picked his way through the dark room, pausing whenever the lightning flashed, blinding him. He went reluctantly to the back door, hesitating before yanking it open. The roar of rain filled the air, water splashing so hard that it splattered him even as he stood in the doorway.

Cursing under his breath, Cid yanked his boots on and flipped the back porch light switch. Then he waded out into the mud to clean up his discarded cigarette butts.

A huge bolt of lightning zagged down from the sky, striking a nearby tree. The thunder that followed was a deafening roar that made him jump, slip, and crash face-first into the mud. His heart hammered hard against the inside of his rib cage, making him gasp for air. He swallowed a mouthful of mud.

“ _Shit_! Fuck!” Cid pushed himself up, spitting. “Sorry, sweet pea, I forgot… Again. Shit. I’m a fuckin’ asshole.”

Gingerly, he got back to his feet, feeling especially sorry for himself. He leaned heavily against the side of the cabin as he collected the rest of the trash.

When he hobbled back inside, sopping wet and shivering, a stack of towels and a clean pair of boxers awaited him on the kitchen table. Cid dumped the muddy butts into the trash, then stripped and washed up at the kitchen sink as best he could. The towels were so ragged and thin that he did a poor job of drying himself off.

He slunk back to bed, head down. Even though he was damp and trembling, Vincent shifted closer, radiating enough warmth to dispel the chill sunk deep into Cid’s bones.

By the next morning, Vincent’s stoic expression and posturing were firmly back in place. Cid felt pretty good, too, having miraculously avoided catching a cold. It was as if nothing happened.

Cid clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Made it to another day in one piece!"

"So it seems," Vincent murmured, eyes sliding shut as he ducked his head.

"I'm starvin', let's go into town, see if that catty bastard made it yet."

"As you wish."

They headed out into the sunshine shoulder to shoulder, but as they ventured further into civilization, Vincent drifted away until enough space for a third person existed between them. Cid chose not to comment, stuffing his hands in his pockets and whistling tunelessly. The tight, hot feeling behind his breastbone could fuck right off. Vincent had _always_ been an intensely private guy, and Cid wasn't about to put him on the spot for a lack of PDA. Or openly acknowledging they were even friends. Or looking at him at all.

Cid's grin became decidedly fixed by the time they entered the commerce square. He sauntered along, scuffing the heels of his boots, the model picture of relaxed confidence and good cheer.

The sharp look Vincent gave him when the morning crowd of shoppers surrounded them said otherwise.

Then again, maybe Vincent only meant to catch his attention, nodding towards the memorial and water tower at the center of the square. Cait Sith perched atop the water tower, kicking his feet. At the sight of them, the cat hopped up, waving with a big, toothy grin.

"Oi, hallo!!"

Passersby were definitely giving them more than a few odd looks as they stood in the shadow of the tower, peering up at a talking cat.

"Hello yerself, cat," Cid retorted. "Get yer ass the fuck down here. Damn disrespectful."

Cait laughed, but came hopping down. At the last jump, he did a dramatic little flip, landing on his toes with his arms outstretched. "Ta-daaah!"

Visibly refraining from the urge to punt the little mechanical cat, Cid twisted his heel against the cobblestone. Off to the side, Vincent searched the crowd, maybe trying to spot Reeve.

"Where ya at? I want food and yer buyin'."

"We thought you might! C'mon, there's a nice little cafe, and Reeve already has a table!" Cait Sith waved for them to follow, then went skipping across the road, pausing once in awhile to check that they didn't fall behind.

"Damn weird, talkin' 'bout himself separate like that," Cid muttered, following at a leisurely pace.

Vincent made a soft "hmf" sound. As they approached the cafe, he came nearer.

Cait Sith jumped up, caught the door handle, and swung down, using his weight to open it. He kicked off the door frame, swinging it too fast. Cid caught it just before it could slam into the wall. The cat beamed up at him, still hanging from the handle. It let go and bounded inside. Vincent brushed past, shoulder sliding against Cid's front. He almost missed the glint of red eyes beneath dark hair.

Not a word had been said, but Cid felt more at ease already.

The cafe was the sort of small town diner that could only be called a cafe by dint of having warm brown booths instead of something jazzier like red vinyl. It pretended at sophistication by way of a couple of patio seats out front, flowers in the windows, and an espresso machine, but at the end of the day, it had the sort of one stovetop kitchen best used for frying greasy eggs, bacon, and hash at all hours.

Cid grinned. Perfect.

Reeve sat in a corner booth, away from the windows, with a few large, badly placed potted plants obscuring line of sight. He saluted with a tiny espresso cup at their approach, shifting over to make room for Cait Sith on the edge of the seat.

Seeing as Vincent hung back, claws flexing by his knee, Cid took it upon himself to slide into the booth first. Vincent eyed the remaining space, and with a very quiet sigh, eased himself into the booth, sandwiching Cid between himself and Reeve. He stayed perched at the edge of the seat, however, as if prepared to spring up at any given moment.

"Cid Highwind. Vincent Valentine." Reeve always seemed to relish saying full names at the beginning of rare face to face conversations, as though he were meeting for the first time. "It's good to see you."

Cid grunted. "Likewise, probably."

Vincent stopped scanning the cafe for threats long enough to size Reeve up. "Reeve," he said, "No costumes today?"

In fact, Reeve was dressed down. No commissioner's robe, no fancy suits. He wore only a simple white button down, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, dark slacks, and, funnily enough, a pair of hiking boots. Like an ill-prepared tourist thinking about climbing Mt. Nibel.

"No, I suspected you might want to hear this directly from me." He straightened, putting on a cheery smile, as the waitress approached.

"So ya friends showed up," she said, smiling that fixed smile of one trapped in the service industry at way too early in the morning. "What'll it be, gentlemen?"

"I'll take a refill and I believe I might indulge with one of those tempting looking blueberry scones." Reeve shot longing looks in the direction of the counter.

"Gimme whatever's got a heap of eggs, pig, and potatoes fried to hell. And... dark as shit tea. Hot. Bring the honey."

The waitress mhm'd along, writing everything down. She didn't ask how Cid wanted his eggs or any of that nonsense, which boded well for him. She set her sights on Vincent, hip cocked and eyebrows up.

"... Water," he eventually managed.

Cid added, "Bring me an extra plate. And some toast."

"Okaaaay. I'll have that right out in a bit."

The waitress swept off to clip the order sheet at the service window, then set to fetching their drinks. After she was done, Reeve leaned towards Cid.

"You destroyed any chance of evidence, you know."

"Yeah, whatever. Hole's closed."

Reeve made a coughing noise and busied himself with sipping at his espresso, eyes averted. "Cauterizing a wound with dynamite is not a valid form of medicine."

Vincent huffed, a low sound that could have been amusement or exasperation or both. "May I introduce you to Cid Highwind? You clearly haven't met him..."

"Oh, ha ha." Reeve gestured with his mug. "I'm glad you both seem so at ease..."

Cid and Vincent exchanged a look. They were saved from trying to explain by the waitress bustling over with a tray of food. She unloaded deftly, unbothered by the silence of her guests, and left as sudden as she'd come, an "Enjoy!" tossed over her shoulder.

Pulling his water towards himself, Vincent stared down his nose at Cid's plate. "Does any of that count as food anymore?"

"Hell yeah!"

"I can feel my arteries closing just _looking_ at it," Reeve said, delicately picking his scone apart.

Cid snorted. "Shit's good for ya."

He shoveled a small helping onto the spare plate, topping it with the extra crispy toast, and nudged it towards Vincent. Only then did he dig in, eating as if to make up for all the missed meals in the past week. With his mouth full, he made a rolling motion with his fork at Reeve.

"Right, well. The WRO has found abandoned drill sites all over the planet. A fair few of them have been flooded by the lifestream."

"To what purpose?" Vincent wondered, picking at a piece of toast.

"We're not entirely certain, but it seems as if someone is searching for something."

"What an idiotic, purposeless way to do it..."

Cid grunted a muffled agreement, chewing as quick as he could. He glared at his runny egg yolk as if they'd personally instigated the attacks on the planet. When he managed to swallow, he said, "Fuck 'em and fuck whatever their goals are."

"Right," Reeve agreed. "The WRO can search far and wide, but I hoped that I might recruit some of our old group. Aside from being highly skilled and experienced with these kinds of things, AVALANCHE has, ah, shall we say a _penchant_ for landing in the middle of this brand of trouble?"

"You mean we have poor luck." Vincent pulled the mantle of his cloak down with a claw and bent forward to try a piece of bacon. His expression did not immediately become one of revulsion.

"The WRO is prepared to finance anything you may need during this endeavor--"

"Yeah but how fuckin' long's it gonna take?" Cid interrupted. "The _Shera_ 's gonna need her captain next month."

"Arrangements can be made. We both know Highwind Enterprises has ample qualified pilots to fill in."

"Ya tellin' me my fuckin' business, Reeve?"

"Only if it aids in convincing you to help me. Help the planet."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Make with the mysterious mountains of gil and contracts and all the good shit."

"Oh, so you're agreeing?"

Cid crunched a piece of bacon loudly, brows furrowed. "Whoever's fuckin' with the planet after all the shit it's been through needs a spear shoved up their ass. So yeah, I'm on board."

"I do not require compensation," Vincent said, when Reeve turned towards him. "I simply have no choice but to look after Cid, as he is unlikely to."

"Hey, I'm not _that_ bad," Cid protested, without any real heat.

Vincent reached over to steal a piece of bacon from Cid's plate, apparently having decided it was acceptable. Cid didn't even bat a lid, as though it were an everyday occurrence.

Meanwhile Reeve chuckled, pulling out a tablet. "I can offer you our first class contract," he began, tapping through several high security passwords to access his files.

From there, it was just a matter of haggling and sending the waitress away for refills.


	8. where sirens sing

Cid felt better having a solid plan for the coming days. The fact that he was now a very wealthy man didn't hurt, either.

After Reeve slipped away, leaving behind enough gil to cover the bill, plus a sizable tip, Cid sauntered from the cafe to the general goods store with Vincent shadowing him. He purchased only enough supplies for lunch, figuring he could stock up properly later that day.

Just as Cid turned to ask Vincent if he wanted anything, Vincent set a package of blackberries and two bottles of cola on the counter next to the pile of purchases.

Cid paid quickly, grabbed the bags, and headed out into the sunshine. "Guess yanno we're headin' out today." He started down the road to the cabin, watching the sky instead of the road or his companion. "Can stay over in Rocket Town while we get shit together for this wild goose chase. Gonna need a different plane, the _Altitude_ won't cut it in no combat situation..."

Vincent stayed silent the whole walk back. Once at the cabin, he went straight to work, packing his bags. Not even bothering to warn Cid's curiosity off, he also made a quick trip down into the basement. Cid kept himself busy repacking his own bag to make room for the new supplies, then went out to wait on the porch.

Ten minutes later, Vincent exited the cabin and locked up. He glanced at Cid, then stepped off the porch to stand on the dirt path.

"Hey, Vince," Cid said, hesitant. He leaned his forearm against a support pillar, up above his head, and cocked his hip.

Vincent looked back and up at him. The breeze tugged at his hair and cloak, as though eager to pull him along on their new mission. It was a pretty sight that took Cid's breath away.

"Uh." Cid cleared his throat. "I was wonderin'... if before we go, you'd..." He flexed his fingers, already regretting saying anything. Maybe the whole thing had been a one-time deal and he was overstepping bounds. "...want to share a smoke. For luck, before we go."

The way Vincent's gaze lowered didn't seem a good thing. Cid tensed, ready to blurt apologies. Then those two red eyes lifted, slow, slow, from boots all the way up, casting lingering looks here and there. By the time Vincent looked him in the eye, Cid's skin felt lit up with sparks.

Vincent lifted the gauntlet. A single gold claw crooked at him was all it took for Cid to tumble off the porch, nearly losing his footing in his giddiness. He felt gawky and awkward, twenty years younger, like a foolish boy on his first date.

"Save your cigarette," Vincent said, coming close.

The kiss was tame, no tongue and all lips, and didn't last long, but it left Cid grinning all the same. Vincent pulled back, studied Cid's face, and then swept away, striding off down the path. His pale cheeks had the faintest color to them.

"Try not to fall behind, Highwind," he called out. "This is _your_ foolish endeavor, after all."

Cid shouldered his pack, shifting it to sit more comfortably against his back, then hurried after Vincent. "Ya really don't gotta do this," he said, and shook a finger at the narrowing of red eyes. "But I'm glad for the company."

They returned to the _Altitude_ , and after a quick systems check, Cid had them in the air and once more on the way to Rocket Town. In the larger plane, flight didn't take long; they landed shortly after lunch. After they unloaded their things, Cid left the _Altitude_ in the capable hands of the flight crew. He led the way towards the main gates with some reluctance.

"Listen, I gotta... go fuckin' talk to Shera." Cid rubbed at the back of his neck. "And pass on the new workin' orders and all that shit."

"Finally?"

"Yeah, yeah, shuddap. Ya wanna hang 'round here, or go supply shoppin', or... what?"

"Where do you wish to meet up, Chief?"

Patting at his pockets, Cid dodged around a harried-looking mechanic that came rushing between them, toting a box full of wires and fuses. He yanked his keyring out, shook it until he held one with a yellow plastic cover on the fob, and offered it to Vincent.

"Might take me a while," Cid said. "Can hide out at my apartment, if ya want."

As they passed through the open gates, Vincent took the key, tucking it between thumb and forefinger. He hooked his middle finger through the keyring, palming the rest of the jangling keys to muffle the noise. He nodded, and moved away, taking a right at the next corner, which would take him through the shopping district.

Cid slowed to a stop, lingering to watch Vincent go. Then he sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and marched off the other way, towards the main offices of Highwind Enterprises. Not five steps later, he got a cigarette out and lit up, puffing at it like a train. His ears rang, filling his head with a high pitched noise not unlike a whistle. He stamped his foot, as if to quell the flashes of memory and panic that always came with thinking of _that_ particular mode of transportation.

"Fuck, get yer shit together," he growled at himself, as if he had ever been in the habit of listening to anyone, least of all himself.

He blew into the office like he owned it--which, technically he did--leaving behind a trail of smoke and frantic employees who hadn't been expecting the boss back so soon. The building was a glorified garage with an air conditioned addition that happened to contain some desks and filing cabinets. The real work took place in the workshop, where machines new and old were tinkered with at all hours. Mostly component parts or little stuff, though Cid paused to admire a truck one of the veteran engineers had taken apart to try and make it waterproof.

Then he moved on, weaving his way between the messy workstations, stepping over scattered parts, ducking when something went flying. Shera was not anywhere in the workshop, though she usually preferred a hands on method to determining if something was ready for launch. Even if it still took her forever.

Cid cornered the nearest engineer, a greenhorn he couldn't remember the name of. "Where the shit's Shera?"

"U-uh, boss lady's, um, Captain, sir, I dunno, sir, beggin' pardon!" She cast pleading looks to the rest of the project members, but they all proceeded to look as busy as possible. "H-h-have you checked her office, sir?"

"Hell no! Who the fuck looks there first? Goddamn. Quit actin' like I'm fuckin' killin' ya and get yer ass back to work!" Cid spun on his heel, marching towards the double doors that separated workspace from office front. "And grow a goddamn spine or get the hell out!"

Because the workshop had to be tall enough for mechanical lifts, the office had two floors. The main floor consisted of a large lobby for visitors and a sales floor with display models of the latest releases. Cid took the stairs two at a time, going up to the second floor. Not many people worked up there aside from accounting and security.

Shera had an office at the end of the hall. He found her door open; she was on the phone, hunched over her laptop, typing rapidly. Cid leaned in the doorway, arms folded, feigning at confidence he didn't feel.

She noticed him a moment later, the corner of her eyes crinkling. Then she held a finger up, mouthed, _one minute_ , and glowered until he slunk into the room to take the seat across from her.

"Yes, I understand," she told whoever was on the other end of the line. "We need that delivery as soon as possible, and we can pay you extra for your trouble." She paused, listening, and "mhm"d for a bit.

Cid looked anywhere but at Shera, slouching into the chair and crossing his legs. He began to drum his fingers the longer the phone call went on.

Finally, just as it seemed the wait would never end, Shera bid her farewells and hung up. She leveled a cool, cautious look at Cid.

"Hello, Captain. It's been a while."

"Yes'm." Cid cleared his throat. "Damned cowardly of me, and all that shit."

Shera sighed, deep and slow, and sat back in her chair, rubbing at the bridge of her nose where her glasses left small red marks. "I didn't realize you were so opposed to me, you could have said--"

"Ain't right, settlin' for a stupid asshole like me," Cid cut in, clenching the arms of the chair. "Ya deserve better'n me, I spent fuckin' years trashin' ya."

"I could handle that. It's just your way to be rough around the edges..."

"No." Cid shook his head firmly. He yelled at his employees because they were making stupid mistakes, he yelled at the other members of AVALANCHE because getting together usually meant the world was ending again. He never yelled at Vincent, or any of his previous partners, not if he wanted to keep them. "It isn't."

Her lips thinned out, gaze averted, eyes beginning to water. "Oh. I suppose that... explains avoiding me..."

"Listen, Shera, I know ya fuckin' thought we'd marry, mebbe cuz everyone expects us, mebbe cuz ya wanted all the legal benefits, but I can't do it." Cid shoved himself to his feet. He began to pace from one corner of the desk to the other. "Shoulda said so from the goddamn beginning. Ya too damn good for this company for me to fuck it up by draggin' you through more hell."

"What shall we do, then, Captain?" she asked, soft and croaky.

He stopped, and looked at her, and hated himself for not loving her more. She'd been his constant companion through the worst, when his dreams were fractured and never going to achieve lift off. He wanted her there through the future, but not in the way she wanted. He was too damn taken with red eyes that never promised him anything more than the right now, right here.

"Yer the best damn wingman I coulda ever asked for, and I ain't gonna like it if we gotta split up over this, but if anyone's leavin', it'll be me."

Cid produced his phone, tapped through to the official messages Reeve sent out, and forwarded them to her. Then he jammed his phone back into his pocket and jerked his chin towards her laptop.

She pushed her glasses up and swiped at her eyes. Then she cleared her throat, putting on a wobbly smile, and turned her attention to the laptop screen. "Don't be ridiculous, Cid, we can work this out."

"I'm sorry, Shera."

"Thank you."

In the long silence that followed, he sat back down, arms folded, and gazed out the window to her left. The only sounds were the occasional click of keys and their breathing. It was one of the most uncomfortable times he ever remembered sharing with Shera.

Eventually, Shera nudged her laptop away with the tips of her fingers and peered over the top of her glasses at Cid. "This is incredible, Captain. I'll have to get it looked over more thoroughly, of course, but this could change everything." She fiddled with one of her bangs, twisting and tugging in a habitual gesture of nerves. "But... I won't sign off on it, if... it means you're leaving the company. I'm not the one everyone looks up to."

"Don't matter, you're the one keepin' this show runnin'."

Cid jerked his chin towards the shelves, where Shera had framed photographs all lined up. In every one, Shera was there. The older ones showed her often off to the sides or in the background, usually hunched away from the camera. In the newer ones, she stood at the forefront, dressed smartly and looking happier.

"I won't do it, Cid," Shera insisted. "If you don't want to lead anymore, then at least agree to stay on as owner."

"And get fat and rich off others' work? Hell naw!"

Shera placed her hands flat on the desk. Her head was bowed; once, this posture meant that the fight was over, that she would give into his bluster. Now, it only meant she was collecting her thoughts.

Cid worked his jaw, biting back the vitriol. He needed to prove his worth and sincerity, needed to be good to Shera, needed to not be the foul-mouthed asshole that bulled over everyone else.

"Cid... you are being ridiculous." She lifted her head, glaring. "If you don't want the money, then take a pay cut! The crew needs to know you're behind them, that's all. Or do you mean to run from that responsibility, too?"

He flinched. She held his gaze, unwavering.

"Shit. Yer too damn good at this." With a sharp flick of his hand, he relented. "Fix it, then, give me the damn pay cut. Minimum wage my ass."

"And you'll come back, after your work with the WRO is concluded?" she asked.

"If it does."

"And if it doesn't, Cid?"

"Then I'll fuckin' write a post card!" Cid snapped, rising from his chair and stomping to the door. "Take my leave here, shit, whatever the hell you want."

"Thank you, Cid. I'll forward you the updates later." Shera closed her laptop, tucked it into her bag, and moved around the desk to turn the lights out. "Are you going to be in town long?"

"No." Cid sidled out into the hall, hands in his pockets, and waited until she'd finished locking her door. "Changin' planes and headin' out quick."

"Okay."

She looked at him like she wanted something. He couldn't begin to guess what it might be. The moment dragged by. Then she nodded, as though confirming something, and brushed past him.

"Have a safe trip, Captain."

Watching her walk away was a relief, yet it hurt. Cid stood frozen, waiting for the world to stop feeling as though it were sliding subtly out of alignment. It was only when she reached the stairs at the end of the hall that he managed to croak, "Thanks, Shera."

With the dreaded talk over with, Cid ambled back through Highwind Enterprises, pausing only briefly to shoot the shit with employees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shera flitting about, doing a far better job of leading the company than he'd ever thought to. He went back to the airstrip with a grin on his face and his heart hurting. Things would be fine.

The crew had finished attending to the _Altitude_. He gave a jaunty salute as he passed the garage, but didn't slow. His destination was on the far side of the airport, behind a guarded checkpoint. He lifted his dog tags, jangling them for the guard to see, and was waved through by dint of being The Boss, at least until Shera finished processing the new orders.

The garages on the other side of the checkpoint held military machines. He didn't want a repeat of the incident with the _Tiny Bronco_. It still grated on his nerves, knowing that some useless lard ass had waltzed up, hijacked his plane right out from his backyard. Now, all of his machines were closely watched, with extra care taken for the ones that had any kind of weaponry.

Cid walked down the airstrip to garage 03. To the left of the big double doors sat a keypad. He thumbed in his access code and let himself in, throwing the doors wide.

Inside sat two planes with twin booms. They looked like the bodies of two smaller planes had been fixed onto the broad wings, connected at the back by a tail plane. Roughly speaking, they were the bigger, meaner upgrades of the _Bronco_ design.

The main body was short, with the cockpit at the top, entrance hatch at the very back, and bomb bay doors at the bottom. The nose was shatterproof glass, with a trio of guns jutting out from a gunner's nest.

The E-2538 were bigger than the _Altitude_ , designed to carry heavy loads of men and munitions. If one wanted to take on longer, dangerous missions with a team of less than five, one couldn't go wrong with one of them.

As a joke, the crew that helped him build them had dubbed them _First_ and _Last_ , as there might never be any others made. Highwind Enterprises had strict clauses in place to reject all bids for mass production of any machine designed with war as the main goal.

 _First_ was a dark red with a large white number sign and one painted on both wings. The Lady Luck on the main body's side was plump, tan skinned with freckles, and wearing a yellow swimsuit.

 _Last_ was dark green with white omega symbols on the wings. Its Lady Luck was a black-skinned redhead with a big sunhat, a too short miniskirt, and a black  & white striped top that was slipping.

Cid circled around, giving each plane a once over. At a glance, everything seemed normal. He dropped his stuff off in a corner, rolled his sleeves up, and approached _Last_ to begin a more thorough examination. Neither plane had been flown in a while and he wasn't eager to die because he'd forgotten to check for rust, dead fuses, or old oil.

Some joker had painted a small smoking skull with goggles like his on the bomb bay doors since Cid last saw the planes. He rubbed his thumb against the picture, shaking his head. It meant someone _had_ come around to give the planes a tune up, though he couldn't know how long ago.

The rest of his afternoon and well into the evening was spent going over the planes, making small fixes. He decided that Vincent could choose which one they took, and the other could be their backup.

Around 1600, he left the airport and headed for his apartment, whistling tunelessly. Whoever kept fucking with the planet was in for a world of hurt, now that Cid Highwind had no other pressing responsibilities.


	9. warm me up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of anyone who doesn't want to read smut or would prefer to have more control for when they read it, I'm going to be splitting smut scenes off into their own chapters. This part ended up being a little short as a result, so thanks for bearing with me.

With as little time as Cid spent at his apartment, it didn't feel that weird to knock on his own door. The scrape and click of locks came a moment later. Vincent cracked the door open, appraised Cid top to bottom as if to ascertain he wasn't an impostor, and then stepped back, letting the door swing wide open.

"Hey," Cid said, smiling. "Take the place over?"

He stepped inside, pulling the door partway shut so he could look at the newly installed locks. There'd only been the one set in the door knob; a shiny new chain, slide bolt, and turn bolt now adorned the door, courtesy of a man who apparently didn't care if his own abode was locked up properly but felt that his friends should do better.

"You realize that you have invaluable design schematics just lying around?" Vincent asked, arms folded.

"Yeah but no one can fuckin' read my chicken scratch."

Cid shut the door, and because Vincent was staring at him, he made a point of locking up completely. Satisfied, Vincent retreated further into the apartment. Humming, thinking about the planes, Cid went through the motions of shedding his pack and boots.

The apartment was a small space, with one room divided into living room and kitchen, a bath, and his bedroom. If he wanted to do his laundry, he had to go down into the basement and pay five gil a load. Usually he forwent spending and wore everything he owned until it could gain sentience, then carted the whole load into the _Shera_ for free laundering. Wouldn't be able to do that anymore, he realized, wandering towards the couch.

That's about when he smelled it. Food. Cid blinked, looking towards the kitchen. Vincent stood in front of the stove. It was kind of funny, since he still had his cloak and full kit on, like he expected a gunfight at any moment.

"Hey, Vince?"

"What?"

"Are... you, uh." Cid drifted over to the counter that divided kitchen from living room. Sure enough, there was a wok full of meat and vegetables simmering in sauce. "You cooked."

"I am capable of doing so, you know."

Cid opened his mouth. Closed it. Blinked at the food, at Vincent standing so stiffly with a pensive frown at the food. Not once in all the years they'd known each other had Vincent ever shown an inclination towards cooking.

The rice cooker beeped, announcing that it finished. Vincent moved to shut it off, opening the lid to check the doneness. And Cid continued to stand there, awed.

"You _are_ hungry, aren't you." Vincent eyed Cid, wary.

"Uh, yeah!" Cid shook himself, rubbing the back of his head with a crooked smile. "I'm just-- shit, Vince, ya didn't have to go through all this effort."

"You feed me all the time. But do not get too comfortable with the idea. It may not be any good."

Vincent retrieved a plate from the cupboards, hesitating only momentarily over cupboard arrangement. Maybe he'd taken the time to try and memorize earlier that day. Cid smiled at the thought as he watched Vincent scoop out a generous portion of rice and stir fry.

When the plate was held out above the counter for him, Cid accepted it, cradling it in his hands as if it were precious cargo. Vincent pulled the silverware drawer open noisily and soon pushed a spoon and a pair of chopsticks into the rice. Then he brought out two bottles of cola from the fridge, twisted the caps off with his gauntlet, and handed one over to Cid.

"Thanks." Cid beamed. "Ya gonna eat?"

"Yes, Highwind. Don't fuss." Vincent turned away, dismissal evident.

Cid left him to it, going to sit on the couch. He swept a mess of notes and doodles and unfinished schematics aside on the coffee table, making room to set his cola. He took his first bite of food as he was sitting down. It was warm, with a lingering spiciness that built up.

"Shit, that's good!"

Cid dug in, humming happily. He was going to regret only having a soda to drink, but couldn't find it in him to care too much. Especially not when Vincent settled on the couch next to him with a somewhat smaller portion. They ate together in near silence, each too occupied with eating.

Later, completely satisfied and happy, Cid cleaned up the dishes and put the leftovers away. He looked forward to having more for lunch the next day. Idly, he wondered what the chances of getting Vincent to cook more things in the future were.

Vincent vanished into the bathroom, the sound of the sink running echoing. When Cid finished drying the last dish, he wandered that way, mostly with the intention of seeing if his bed was musty or if housecleaning had come by recently. He stopped in the bathroom doorway, watching Vincent brush his teeth.

Tilting his head, Vincent raised his brow at Cid. Then he bent, gathering his hair in his hand to keep it out of the way, and spat.

"Need something?"

"Uh, no, sorry, just bein' nosy."

"Hmf." Vincent rinsed his toothbrush, set it aside, and then filled a mug stolen from the kitchen so he could rinse his mouth out. "You should brush."

"'Kay, in a bit."

Something in the way Vincent looked at him while taking a mouthful of water from the mug made Cid pause. It was a sharp look that, while threatening, held a heated promise. Vincent lowered his gaze, lingering on Cid's mouth, and then bent to spit.

"...Yeah, I _should_ fuckin' brush, huh?"

"Mhm." Vincent finished up and pushed past Cid, relinquishing the small bathroom.

Cid had never brushed his teeth so thoroughly or quickly.


	10. nsfw - melt in the kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of chapter 9, taking a jaunt right into the gutter.
> 
> warnings: blindfold, oral, handjobs, hair pulling, very light cbt

Tall, dark, and handsome leaned in the bedroom doorway, watching with those red eyes. Cid approached with his hands in his pockets, playing it cool. Vincent stepped back, into the room, and Cid followed. Step by step they progressed this way, until Vincent stopped backing away, letting Cid into his personal space.

"Hey," Cid said, low, and leaned up.

Vincent watched him until their lips met; his eyes slid shut as he kissed back. He hooked his metal arm around Cid's waist, pulling them closer together, even as he parted his lips. Cid groaned happily, licking into Vincent's mouth, tasting a whole lot of spearmint toothpaste and not minding a bit. One kiss became several, broken up only by a need for air.

Unsure, but wanting more, Cid broke away, stepping towards the bed. "Do you--?" He spread his hands helplessly, half expecting the heated looks to cool, followed by a hasty retreat.

Vincent looked between him and the bed. His slight nod shouldn't have gone straight to Cid's groin, but he was rapidly realizing he was a sad and desperate man, eager for just about anything Vincent gave him. He found that it didn't bother him as much as it probably should have.

The bed was hard and uncomfortable, with stiff, starchy sheets and a scratchy quilt. It didn't matter too much--all they needed was a flat surface.

Vincent pushed him with one hand, making him back up until the edge of the bed hit the backs of his knees. Then the angle of pushing shifted, urging Cid to lie back. Cid resisted long enough to drag the quilt off the bed, finding the texture too distracting. Vincent knelt over him, claw curling and tearing the sheets next to his head. The cloak pooled around them, draped over Cid's legs.

Neither moved for a moment, sizing the other up.

Sharing cigarettes, sleeping side by side, and leaning against one another when there was no one else around... those were safe enough. But this, this was something else. Something definite that they couldn't take back later.

Cid reached up, swiped his thumb over Vincent's cheek. Vincent didn't pull away. His eyelids fluttered closed. Taking that for a good sign to continue, Cid traced his fingers up, snagging the red bandana that held hair out of the way, gently tugging until it came loose.

"How'd ya want this?"

"I don't know," Vincent admitted. He caught the end of the bandana, pulling it from Cid's grip. Rubbed his gloved fingertips against it with a thoughtful look.

Cid eyed the bandana, shrugged. "Ya ain't never been for anyone lookin' at ya."

"Is that alright, for now?"

"Sure."

Cid propped himself up on his elbows, eyes closed, and allowed Vincent to blindfold him with the bandana. The little thrill that shivered down his spine couldn't match the warmth that bloomed in his chest for the chaste kiss and murmur of, "Thank you," he got from Vincent.

At the nudge of a hand against his chest, he laid back down. Nervous anticipation pooled in his gut.

"Uh, one request?"

"What is it?"

"Take yer glove off?"

Vincent huffed a soft laugh, leaning down to press another, less chaste kiss to his mouth. Cid didn't get the chance to deepen it, as lips trailed down his stubbly jaw, settling against his neck. He hissed, approvingly, when teeth scraped against his pulse.

"Of course."

Regrettably, Vincent sat up, leaving Cid wanting for more. Cid reached, hands settling on thighs. The right still had the gun holster strapped to it. He flicked a finger against it.

"Patience, Highwind," Vincent said.

The sound of buckles being undone followed. The glove hit the bed next to Cid's ear. A soft rasp marked the gun being drawn, before it was set on the mattress on the other side of Cid's head.

"Safety’s on, innit?"

“What’s a safety?”

"Vince..."

"Of course it is. Do you honestly think I am about to engage in intercourse with a live gun in the bed."

"Uhh..."

More buckles undone, Vincent rising up on his knees for a moment, and then the holster hit the bed with more force than strictly necessary. A bruising kiss followed, teeth catching Cid's lip and pulling. Cid groaned, mouth opening, and Vincent pressed in, tongue swiping against Cid's.

One kiss led to another, and another, until they were both panting into the other's mouth. Cid shifted, trying to rock his hips up insistently, but Vincent had settled his weight in a way that restricted movement.

Vincent seemed to get the hint anyway. He moved downward, resuming his earlier ministrations to Cid's neck. Wet heat, suction, and the lightest graze of teeth had Cid squirming, groaning low when Vincent found a particularly tender spot and teased at it. Bare fingers pushed up under Cid's shirt, gliding over quivering muscles and pausing against his erratic heart beat.

"I have not... done this for a very long time," Vincent admitted, somewhere near Cid's collar bone.

"Sh-shit, sure got me fooled."

Vincent nipped at him, making him arch, hands bunching the fabric of Vincent's pants.

"You will tell me if it is dissatisfactory?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is good. Don't fuckin' stop."

"Alright. You should probably remove some clothing about now."

"Hell yeah!"

Cid yanked his shirt off, flinging it somewhere to the right. The rattle of glass on wood told him he'd probably hit the lamp.

"Smooth, Highwind," Vincent said, lifting his weight off of Cid's legs.

"Suck it, Valentine," Cid retorted, popping the button of his jeans, unzipping, and starting to wiggle out of them.

"I might."

Cid about choked on his spit. His cock, now freed from the too tight confines of jeans, with nothing separating it from air but thin cotton boxers, gave a very interested twitch. Vincent hooked his fingers through the belt loops and yanked, pulling the jeans from Cid's slack grip and the rest of the way down, past his knees. 

"Still alright?" Vincent asked. His hand settled over Cid's bulge, not yet applying any kind of satisfactory pressure.

"Fuck yeah."

Cid lifted his hand, found Vincent's shoulder, and tugged. Vincent obliged, leaning down for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. He began to knead Cid's erection, mapping its length out and finding how much pressure would make Cid moan and buck. Soon, the flimsy barrier of cotton was yanked out of the way, and blessedly warm, _bare_ fingers curled around the base, stroking lightly.

When Cid got to wiggling too much, Vincent sat down on his thighs again, preventing him from any further movement. At Cid's frustrated groan, Vincent resumed kissing and biting his neck and tightened his fingers, dragging his thumb over the head of Cid's dick.

"Shit, Vince, yeah," Cid panted, not really minding the lack of lubricant yet.

Vincent mouthed his way downwards, leaving wet trails that chilled quickly, making Cid shiver. He paused over Cid's sternum, harsh breaths tickling the hair there. His hand left Cid's dick, nails dragged down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

"Y-- fuck. Ya a goddamn.. _tease_ ," Cid gasped.

"I only have one hand for this." Vincent's voice, always so deep, had taken on a very noticeable rumble, barely above a growl. "Unless you _want_ me to cut you."

Cid swallowed. "...Maybe some other time, ya can, uh, play rough."

Vincent's forehead thumped against his chest. Cid jumped a little, not expecting it.

"Incredible..."

He wasn't expecting Vincent to lunge back up to kiss him again either, but it was definitely agreeable. Cid kissed back eagerly, humming with satisfaction.

Then Vincent moved away entirely, prying Cid's hands from his pants. He left the bed altogether, leaving Cid cold and uncertain for a minute.

"Hey--"

He heard a rustle of cloth, the twin thumps of something hitting the floor by the bed. Felt hand and gauntlet settle on his knees. Warm breath against his thighs, ghosting over his balls.

"Oh, fuck," Cid said, with great feeling.

The hand curled around the base of his dick, gave a squeeze. The gauntlet stayed pressed against his knee, keeping it from bouncing. Cid tensed, heat coiling tight in his groin, and tried not to move. He was rewarded with a wet tongue lapping at the head of his dick, and it was goddamn glorious.

Vincent might not have done this in a long time, but it didn't matter. The sheer fact that it was Vincent fucking _Valentine_ , his long time friend and frequent subject of wet dreams, between his legs was about doing Cid in. Vincent was being careful, there was a lot of spit, and warm heat surrounding Cid's dick, and tongue and--

"Fuuuck."

Vincent pulled away, blowing a breath out over wet skin. Teasing again, making Cid squirm and gasp and curse.

His hand let go, pushed along the sheets to grab one of Cid's. Pulling until Cid released the sheet, let Vincent put that hand where he wanted it--in his very long, very soft hair. Cid threaded his fingers into it immediately, fingertips rubbing little circles. Vincent hummed, leaning into it, but he wasn't done. He curled his hand over Cid's and squeezed until Cid had a handful of it, then guided him into pulling it.

"Oh." Cid's fingers loosened reflexively as he realized what he was being instructed to do. Then he tightened and tugged. "Sure?"

Vincent leaned forward, gripping Cid's dick and pushing the head into his mouth. The answering, "Mhm," vibrated around stiff flesh, setting off sparks of pleasure.

Cid bucked a little as Vincent swallowed him down, tongue rubbing against the underside. He tugged at hair, mindful not to pull solitary strands, and earned low, throaty groans. Vincent bobbed and sucked, and Cid could feel his balls tightening, pressure building.

"Fu-uck, I'm--"

He tried to pull Vincent off, but was resisted. Vincent swallowed him down, his hand loosening at the base, and Cid came with a hoarse shout.

In the aftermath, trembling from the force of his heartbeat hammering, he was only vaguely aware of Vincent untangling his hand from hair, pulling back and tucking him away in his boxers. Weight settling on either side of him, thighs caging his hips.

"Cid," Vincent said, hoarse.

"...Yeah?"

The click and rustle of more buckles and cloth confused him at first. Little by little, he came back down from his high, everything becoming real again. Vincent grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and guided him. It wasn't hair this time, but the rough cloth covering a thigh. Vincent nudged his hand up higher, over belt loops and belts, and then over, past zippers.

"Oh," Cid breathed, fingertips grazing what was definitely a dick in need of attention.

Vincent shifted, sitting on Cid's thighs. The movement separated him from Cid's touch. "You don't-- have to."

"Want to."

Cid pressed his hand against what he thought was probably Vincent's belly, searching downward until he found his target again. Traced out the length, gave it a squeeze, enjoying the way Vincent's breath hitched. "Lube's in the side table."

Vincent leaned to the side, not wanting to get up. Cid didn't mind, running his fingers up and down and memorizing the texture and feel because he didn't think he'd get to see anytime soon, if ever. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Vincent still had his foreskin, and made sure to roll it up over the head and back down, eliciting a hiss and a shiver.

He listened to the rattle of the drawer being yanked open, felt Vincent's thighs tighten as the contents were revealed. Nothing but nudie mags, the lube, and kleenex. Probably the content of the magazines was unsurprising now, with a dick in his hand making his preferences plain.

"No secret stash, I suppose," Vincent muttered, pressing the bottle of lube against Cid's hand.

"Listen, it fuckin' sucks tryna find where the hell ya hid this shit when yer in the mood." Cid released Vincent's dick, using both hands to uncap the bottle, pouring out a generous dollop into his palm. He rubbed his hands together, warming the lube.

"It's-- ah--" Vincent arched into his touch. "--efficient."

"Damn right."

Cid began to stroke, twisting his wrist the way he liked on the upwards slide, squeezing near the base.

"Harder," Vincent bit out, rocking into his fist. Compliance earned a low, ragged groan.

"Ya like it rough, huh, Vince?"

"Mm..."

Curious how far that went, Cid sought out Vincent's balls with his free hand. The first touch made Vincent jerk up, maybe startled. Cid cupped them in his hand, kneading, and when he wasn't told to stop, he gave a sharp tug down.

That got him an outright moan.

Pleased with his discovery, he continued to jerk Vincent off, alternating between tugging and squeezing his sac. It didn't take long for Vincent to come, hips stuttering. The hot globs of cum splattered on Cid's chest and spilled over his fist; he continued to stroke Vincent through it until his hands were pushed away.

Vincent drooped over him, forehead resting heavily against his shoulder. They didn't move until the tremors abated and his breathing evened out. Then Vincent swung off of Cid, the rustle and click telling him that clothes were being righted. The drawer rattled open. The edge of the kleenex box got jabbed against Cid's side; he took it gratefully, wiping up the mess.

Turning towards where he thought Vincent was, he opened his mouth to ask him whether everything was okay, whether they could do other things later. Vincent shut him up with a firm kiss with no tongue. He finally pulled the blindfold away, too.

"Hey, gorgeous," Cid quipped.

"I'm tired, Chief. No more talking right now."

"'Kay."

Cid shifted over to one side of the bed, maneuvering the gun out of the way, making room. He half expected Vincent to flounce off to brood. It didn't happen. Vincent took up the offered space, kicking boots and cloak off. Even better, after Cid finished wriggling all the way out of his jeans and got under the covers, Vincent scooted closer, hand settling over his heartbeat.

It was a _really_ good night.


	11. a nova's glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be safe -- there's very, very brief suicidal imagery at the beginning.

An empty bed greeted Cid in the morning. Without opening his eyes, he stretched his arms out on either side of himself, finding no other traces of warmth. He squinted his eyes open one at a time, then sat up, blinking and rubbing at his face.

Disappointment swelled under his breastbone, made his stomach twist uneasily. Cid got out of bed, padding to the bathroom lest he upend last night's dinner on the floor.

His tub was filled with red.

For one panicked moment, he thought of water and blood overrunning the white porcelain, filling the cracks between the floor tiles. Then he blinked, his sleepy brain catching up with the reality that Vincent Valentine was hunched in the dry tub, fully dressed and wrapped up in his cloak. Shivering and clutching at the tattered hem like he might fly apart at any given moment.

Cid crept closer, swallowing the urge to call out. As he knelt by the tub, wide, glassy red eyes peered from behind a curtain of black hair. Vincent's teeth were grit but not sharp. If he struggled with the monster's impulses, he wasn't far gone. Cautiously, Cid lifted his hand, waited to see if Vincent would flinch away, and when he didn't, smoothed the hair out of Vincent's face.

"Dreamin', huh?" he asked, voice low and gentle.

Vincent nodded, jerky and slight, and reached from beneath his cloak with bare fingers. Cid smiled wanly, taking Vincent's hand between both of his. He turned it so he could press a kiss against the palm. Vincent curled his fingers against Cid's stubbly cheek, sucking in uneven breaths.

"I'm here, Vince. Not goin' nowheres if ya need me."

Red eyes closed and Vincent tipped his head back, sinking down some. He didn't pull his hand away, letting Cid hold onto him. When Cid shifted to sit fully on the floor, he opened his eyes to watch, uncertain and tense, but that faded once it became apparent Cid meant to stay. He mouthed, _thank you,_ and closed his eyes again.

The longer he sat there waiting for Vincent to come back to him, the more numb Cid's ass became and the more he wanted a cigarette. He'd left his pack in his jeans, discarded in the bedroom. The bathroom was too cramped for a smoke anyway.

To distract himself, he traced the lines of Vincent's palm with his thumbs. Little by little, Cid applied more pressure, massaging until Vincent's hand went completely slack. Cid smiled when he caught a glimmer of red from beneath full lashes. He tugged gently at Vincent's arm, then rolled the sleeve up to the man's elbow. There was a needle mark on the pale flesh, a fading bruise in the crook of an elbow. Cid rubbed at the muscles of Vincent's forearm, averting his gaze lest his concern and curiosity get the better of him.

To his surprise, Vincent explained, "Blood work." Then he pulled away, not to curl inwards but to sit up. "I am... not healing as I should."

"Oh. Shit." Cid stilled.

In the past, Vincent never fell ill. His wounds healed almost before anyone could finish using a healing materia. Given his bloody past, he avoided the hell out of anything remotely resembling a sterile environment or doctors.

To not only allow a doctor to draw blood but to still have the bruise...

Cid hissed through his teeth, bracing his forearms on the lip of the tub. He rested his chin on his arms, watching Vincent watch him and trying to decide if it was appropriate for him to ask anything. The memory of a line of pills haunted him.

"How long's it been like this?"

"Deepground." Vincent looked away, curling fingers and talons atop his knees. "How much do you know about their activities?"

"Ehh... I mostly just flew yer asses around, after Reeve pulled gil outta the goddamn air." Cid shrugged. He frowned, remembering the rumble and heat of explosions. "...And then the bastards shot us down. Fuck, the first _Shera_ was so good."

Vincent exhaled, but looked at Cid with something approaching tired fondness. "You are not very clever with names are you, Highwind."

"Fuck you." The retort came automatic, lacking any real barb. "Didn't seem right, lettin' her namesake be a downed ship."

Vincent reached out, settling his hand on Cid's shoulder, as though commiserating. Then he applied pressure, pushing until Cid got the hint to move. Once sufficient space had been made by Cid scooting back and clambering to his feet, Vincent got out of the tub. He used his teeth to pull the sleeve back down his arm.

"Deepground sought... to control Omega, which would have ended poorly for our planet."

"Right, the usual fuckin' spiel."

The corner of Vincent's mouth twitched. "To do so, they needed the protomateria that Lucrecia entrusted with me." He laid his claw against his chest, tucking his chin. "I have lost both that and Chaos."

"...the big fuckin' winged demon thing?"

"Mm."

Cid whistled. "Sure explains why ya ain't been anything but that beast lately." He rubbed at the side of his nose, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. A dusty cobweb swayed in front of the vent. Needed to get a broom in there sometime, since housekeeping missed it. "Been doin' pretty good keepin' that in check, too."

"Ah."

Cid blinked at Vincent. That didn't sound like the _ah_ of agreement. It sounded like he was about to hear a secret he wasn't going to like.

Vincent shifted guiltily to the side, gaze averted. The bottom of the tub was a mess of claw marks, porcelain cracked to hell. White dust and grit coated Vincent's cloak and pants.

"Son of a bitch!"

His outburst made Vincent hunch, fingers gripping the grip of his gun tight enough to turn the knuckles whiter than usual. Cid gnashed his teeth, frustrated with himself. He moved closer, mindful that he _could_ get shot, and put his hand against Vincent's neck, feeling the thrumming pulse under his palm. Vincent stilled, eyes wide.

"It's just a fuckin' bath tub, Vince. I'm sorry ya had to deal with this shit on yer own."

"I can handle it. And pay for the damages."

"Not the damn point an' yanno it," Cid growled.

Vincent tipped his head to the side, baring his neck further. His gaze was averted downwards. "I... am unaccustomed to that level of trust. If something were to happen to you because I could not--"

"Don't shut me out, Vincent."

With a solid click, Vincent shut his mouth. And looked at Cid, expression unreadable. Color rose in his cheeks as Cid leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, keeping the hand cupped against his neck.

"Ya ain't gotta tell me everything. Ain't gotta show me all of it. But don't shut me out. I wanna help, even if it's only distractin' from the real bad shit. Okay?"

Vincent inhaled, licked his lips, and finally squinted his eyes closed. "...Alright, Chief." He set his hand over the dog tags, pressing against the beat of Cid’s heart.

Cid slid his hand from Vincent’s neck, brushing his knuckles against a still flushed cheek. He grinned, bright and relieved.

“Ya gonna be okay for startin’ today?”

“Mhm.” Vincent leaned into Cid’s hand. “I’m not that fragile.”

“‘Course not!” Shaking his head, Cid caught a lock of hair and gave the lightest of tugs. Vincent’s eyes snapped open, pupils dilating. Cid coughed, letting go. “...Breakfast time, then we'll get our asses movin’.”

After shooing Vincent out of the bathroom so he could use it, Cid took the time to splash some cold water on his face. Then he went out to fix them some breakfast. Vincent was quiet but not terribly distant, watching Cid for cues. Cid herded him through eating, hygiene, and getting ready to go. Not once did Vincent complain or resist.

They made it out to the airport and garage 03 around 1024. Cid saw a lot of WRO members bustling around, which meant Shera had already ratified the contracts and Reeve had sent people over from the local outpost straight away. Knowing that Highwind Enterprises was in good hands filled Cid's heart with a swell of pride.

As did watching Vincent walk between the two E-2538s, regarding them with something like respect.

"Think ya can make use of the gunner's nest?"

Vincent stopped at the nose of the _First_ , peering up at the trio of guns jutting from the glass. The two side guns were fixed, but the center one could be aimed freely. At that moment, it hung at a downward angle, low enough that Vincent could reach it to tap his golden claws against the barrel.

"It should not be difficult," he said, as though it were perfectly normal to have near perfect mastery of anything remotely resembling a gun.

"Good. Ya wanna pick which one'll be our ride?"

Lowering his gauntlet, Vincent turned in place, eyeing the _Last_. He shook his head and looked to Cid.

"It would be... uncomfortable to ride anything with Omega's moniker on it."

"Oh, right, sure." Cid dragged his hand through his hair. "I'll get the smart asses to change it. Might needa switch later."

Motioning for Vincent to follow, Cid rounded the _First_ , going beneath the tail plane to open the entrance hatch up. He stepped aside to let the ramp settle with a clunk on the concrete. Then he tossed his bags and spear into the plane to be dealt with later. The spear clattered and rolled, landing diagonally across the narrow hall.

"I gotta get fueled up, so go ahead an' get acquainted."

Vincent strode onto the plane, picking the spear up and propping it against a wall. He moved deeper into the plane after, the echo of his boots resounding off the walls.

Cid left him to it, going to the panel on the far side of the garage to get the larger sliding door open for their departure. Then he went to collect the fuel hose from the wall and took it to center of the garage, between the two planes. He dropped the hose and bent to open up the access hatch for the garage's fueling station. It was little more than a panel with dials indicating available fuel and pressure, an access pipe, and control valves. Someone had left a blue-handled screwdriver resting between the two dials. Cid pulled the end of the hose over and secured it to the pipe using the screwdriver. He took the tool and the other end of the hose over to the _First_ and set to work opening up the gas tank hatch so he could secure the hose to the pipe inside. After that, he returned to the fueling panel and began pumping.

It would take a long time to finish. Cid sat back with his legs stretched out on either side of the panel, bracing his weight on his hands. He sorely wanted a cigarette, but he preferred not blowing the whole place sky high.

The sight of Vincent in the cockpit was a nice distraction. Cid waved, and grinned when talons jerkily lifted in response.

The sound of booted footsteps approaching drew Cid's attention to the opened double doors. Two of the airstrip's security guards flanked a smartly dressed WRO agent. He carried a battered suitcase, as though intending to catch a flight.

"Sir!" the guards stopped at the line marking the door frame, saluting. 

The left guard, a woman with a brown ponytail, said, "The commissioner requested we escort important documents to your person."

"And see our guest safely back out to civilian areas," the other guard added. He was a freckled man with glasses.

Cid couldn't remember either of their names. Felt a little bad about it, but he stood, dusting his hands off, and nodded sharply. "Thanks, fellas." He walked over, sizing the WRO agent up. "Alright, whatcha got for me?"

"All relevant data currently available. The commissioner felt it unwise to transmit it digitally." The agent hefted the suitcase with some effort, offering it.

When Cid accepted it, he grunted, startled by its weight. His arm dropped until he applied enough strength to lift it properly. "The hell y'all pack this with, fuckin' bricks?!"

"I am not privy to the details of the contents, sir."

Cid snorted. "Yeah whatever. Ya made yer delivery. Thanks. Now get the hell outta here."

After the trio stumped off, Cid set the suitcase down and pulled the doors shut, ensuring that the locks slid in place. He didn't want any other surprise visitors while he checked the suitcase's contents out.

"What is with the luggage?" Vincent asked, close behind.

"Fuck!" Cid spun, mashing his back and his palm against the door, and glared at the other man, heart hammering. "Dammit, Vince."

Vincent studied him for a moment, not the least bit apologetic, then came closer to put his gloved hand against Cid's heart. "Hmm.. are your senses dulling in your old age, Highwind?"

"Oh, fuck off."

"I doubt that is a sincere wish." Vincent dropped his hand away, studying the luggage.

"Shit no."

Grumbling and rubbing at his chest, Cid kicked the luggage onto its side. He grabbed the zipper and yanked it, opening the bag in one motion. He flipped the lid up.

"Howdy, fellas!" Cait Sith sprang from the suitcase, smiling.

On the mechanical cat's descent, Vincent drew his gun and fired, reacting on instinct. Cid jostled Vincent's elbow at the last second, throwing his aim off just enough. The trio of bullets shredded Cait Sith's little red coat and knocked his crown clean off, sending it bouncing across the pavement. The little cat tumbled, eyes wide, and scrambled away.

"The fuck, Vince! Don't fuckin' fire in _here_!! There's goddamn fuel! Ya wanna fuckin' kill us?!"

Vincent tucked his chin, stowing his gun. "Sorry." He looked away from Cid, watching Cait Sith, who'd hidden behind one of the _First_ 's front wheels.

Cid scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. "Fuckin' warn a guy, Reeve! Goddamn stupid asshole, messin' with vets!"

Then he threw his arm around Vincent's shoulders, yanking him into a rough hug. Vincent went stiff as a board, hands held awkwardly near Cid's sides, not quite touching. Cid pushed his other hand up the back of Vincent's neck, cupping the base of his skull, and nudged until Vincent's forehead bumped against Cid's shoulder. Vincent slouched, arms hanging loose, as if the threads of tension had been cut all at once.

"Alright?" Cid asked, quiet.

Vincent nodded, just slightly enough that if he hadn't been leaning against Cid, it wouldn't have been noticeable.

"Good." Cid flipped Cait Sith off behind Vincent's back.

"Rude!! After I came all this way to help..." The little cat folded his arms, turning away with his nose up.

"If ya wanted me to ferry one of ya damn toys around, shoulda fuckin' said so."

"My bad~" Cait Sith sing-songed, not sounding very sorry.

Vincent pulled away, giving Cid a lingering look, then marched off to the plane. He gave Cait Sith a wide berth. Then he was out of sight, going back inside. His curiosity about the suitcase's contents looked to be long gone.

Cid scuffed his boot on the ground. He glanced down to the suitcase and saw that the cat hadn't been the only thing inside. As promised, a stack of folded up maps and manilla folders filled the bottom. Since Vincent shot in that direction, the lid was totally fucked up.

Shaking his head, Cid counted his blessings that nothing important got ruined. He collected everything from the suitcase and walked towards the plane. On the way, he kicked at the battered crown, bouncing it over to Cait Sith. The cat looked naked without it.

"What's the deal, ya comin' with?"

"Yep! Might be useful recon.” Cait Sith picked up the crown and put it on at a jaunty angle, apparently unbothered by the battered hole in it. “Don't worry though, I'll take catnaps when I'm not needed. Just say 'Gold Saucer' when you want me!"

"Fine. Get the fuck on and find somewhere outta the way."

Cid stomped onto the plane, hauling the heap of documents to the ladder leading up into the cockpit. Both arms were full, so he couldn't possibly climb up with everything.

"Oi, Vince? Little help?"

A scrape and clank marked Vincent moving up above, then his face peered down from the top of the ladder. He extended his gloved hand, using his talons to brace against the lip of the hole.

Cid passed handfuls of folders and maps up. "Thanks. Have a look at that shit, figure out where we oughta go, an' shove the rest in the locker behind our seats."

"As you wish."

Cait Sith squeezed between Cid's legs, placing gloved hands on the lowest rung of the ladder. "Upsy doodle!"

Cid planted his boot against the cat's back, pinning it down. "Nah-uh, give Vince his space. Ya can go up when I do."

The cat flailed comically, letting out a pitiful feline whine. But it didn't persist when Cid let up. Cait Sith gave a pouty stare, but slunk off to the side to flop down and wait, tail twitching.

Thumbing his nose, Cid stomped back out of the plane to check on the fueling. The tank was almost full. He waited near the fueling station, arms folded. Then, when the pressure dropped several minutes later, he went to work turning everything off, unhooking, closing panels up, and dragging the hoses out of the way. He kicked the wooden wedges out from beneath the wheels, checked that everything in the garage was in order, and then got back on the plane, smacking a red button just inside to shut the entrance hatch.

"Alright, let's fuckin' get primed up."

Cid noticed his stuff had already been removed from the cargo bay. Assuming Vincent took it off to the locker, Cid climbed into the cockpit, Cait Sith on his heels. Vincent glanced up from the co-pilot's seat, then returned his attention to the map and thick pile of photographs in his lap. He had a red marker, which he seemed to be marking the map with.

On his way to the pilot's seat, Cid yanked one of the jump seats on the wall open. It made the already crowded cockpit even more so, but they couldn't have a loose mechanical cat rattling around on take off.

"Sit yer ass down 'n buckle up."

"Sure thing, Captain!!" Cait Sith hummed, clambering into the seat, and clicked the seat belt on with relish. It took a bit of struggling to get the straps tight enough.

Meanwhile, Cid sank into the pilot's seat, put his headphones on, and began priming up. He nudged at Vincent, handing over the other set of headphones. Vincent sighed, greatly put upon as always, but nevertheless donned the things.

Once the plane was fully primed, systems checks done twice, seat belts secured and loose items stored away, Cid rolled the _First_ out of the garage and hailed air control for guidance. He slapped a button on the side of his chair, shutting the garage door behind the plane.

"Time to fuckin' save the world again, Valentine. Ya ready?"

"I will follow wherever you go."

Cid beamed, reaching over to bump Vincent's knee, then focused on the instructions coming from the radio and getting them in the air.


	12. drop me down

Circling wide over the edges of Rocket Town, mindful of incoming air traffic, Cid looked over to Vincent.

"Where to?"

Vincent didn't answer for almost a minute, studying the map he'd been making notes on. There were a lot of complicated marks Cid couldn't make heads or tails of at a glance. While waiting, he looked behind him to check on their unwanted passenger. In the jump seat, Cait Sith slouched down, powered off until needed, as promised.

"Northwest." The tap tap tap of the back of a gold talon against the map somewhere north of Rocket Town's name could just barely be heard over the engines. "One of the uninhabited islands."

"Alright." Cid turned the nose of the plane northwest. "Which one issit?"

"The smallest."

"Yanno, be real fuckin' helpful if these things had names," Cid grumbled, drumming his fingers against the yoke.

"Perhaps they did and we have forgotten them."

Vincent folded up the map so that the section showing Rocket Town and the lands north of it remained face up. He propped it on the console between them, then tucked the stack of surveillance photos into their folder, secured it with the twine band, and stuffed it under his seat. Somewhere in the middle of all that, he pulled a book and a package of sugar free peppermint gum out. He offered a stick of the latter over to Cid with a knowing squint.

"Fuckin' got my number, ain't ya?" Cid grinned, popping the gum in his mouth. Wasn't nearly as good as a cigarette, but kept his mouth busy and the ear pressure manageable.

"Hmm. I should, unless Elena forgot to transfer my saved contacts the last time I asked for a replacement..."

"Har de har har."

The corner of Vincent's mouth curled, more of a smirk than a smile, and he opened his book. Soon, he was entirely absorbed in the text, leaving Cid to focus on the landscape sliding by far below.

Tapping a steady beat out on the yoke, Cid hummed to himself as the mainland gave away to ocean, the islands visible in the distance.

"Vinny, Vinny, who can I turn to," he crooned, flashing the other man a sunny grin. He nodded towards the windshield. "You give me somethin' to hold onto."

Vincent stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head, slowly lowering his book until the spine rested against his legs. Their destination seemed to hold no interest whatsoever. He was mesmerized by Cid's antics, mouth twitching.

Egged on by the reaction, Cid continued to sing, "I know you'll think I'm like the others before who saw your name and number on the wall."

"...Highwind," Vincent said, uncertain.

"Vinny, I've got your number."

" _Cid_."

Raising his voice, trying not to laugh, Cid belted out, "I need to make you mine! Vinny, don't change your number!!"

Vincent lunged as he opened his mouth to start reciting the number. His book hit the floor, paper rustling, page lost. He smacked his gloved hand over Cid's mouth, talons grasping the back of the pilot's seat.

The plane rocked, banking a sharp left and starting to nosedive as Cid jolted and flailed. With muffled curses, he hastened to straighten the plane, but when Vincent let him go, he laughed, a little wild.

Talons clutched tighter at the seat, leather creaking but not yet tearing. Vincent looked genuinely alarmed, casting furtive glances between Cid and the windshield, like he expected to crash into the ocean still.

"Oh fuck, you'll kill us pullin' shit like that, Vince!! What's the fuckin' matter, don't like the classics?"

"I..." Vincent coughed, leaning back into his own seat. He left a hand shaped indent on Cid's chair. "It is embarrassing." Tucking his chin into his mantle, he was the very picture of despondent shame.

"Who the fuck's gonna hear?"

Vincent looked behind them. Cid snorted. Their passenger still hadn't moved. It _was_ possible that Reeve had left surveillance active, but Cid found he didn't care that much.

"Ya wanna dump it out the bomb bay doors?"

"... I think Reeve might make us pay for it."

"Ehh, he's wealthy enough..."

"With annoying jobs."

Cid scratched the right side of his jaw, rasping finger tips through the rough stubble. It made him think of flicking his lighter to ignite a spark.

"No more fuckin' jumpin' the pilot when we're midair, Valentine, an' I'll keep the love songs to a minimum."

Vincent nodded, folding his arms, and stared moodily out the windshield. His long hair hid most of his face, so Cid couldn't begin to guess whether Vincent was genuinely upset or just... flustered.

"Hey, ya alright?"

"I... will be," came the hesitant reply.

"'Kay."

Knowing to leave well enough alone, Cid checked their surroundings. They were just flying over the first of the islands, the largest of the lot. It consisted of a short mountain covered entirely in trees that jutted up from the ocean. There didn't seem to be anywhere to land, and he was glad he wouldn't have to try.

On the northern slope of the mountain, Cid noticed a barren clearing in the forest. He frowned, guiding the plane down lower and tilting to circle. The islands were unnamed and uninhabited; the forest should have been totally untouched. Yet there lay a flattened space with fallen trees neatly stacked along the edges.

"Hey, Vince."

"I see it."

Vincent picked up the folded piece of map and fished the marker from where it had fallen between his seat and the wall. Glancing between the panel on the dash showing their coordinates, the worryingly barren clearing, and the map, he pinpointed the exact spot he needed to place a new mark.

"Wanna check it out?"

"Not now." Pointing with the capped end of the marker, Vincent indicated the forest. "If anyone is down there, they will have the advantage of an ambush, as we have only one spot for a safe landing."

Cid nodded, already pulling the plane up and getting back on course. "Prolly got a raft in storage somewhere. Land on one of the other damn islands an' sneak back later?"

"Let's."

They flew on.

Vincent tapped the marker cap against the map, a slight narrowing of eyes the only other sign that he wasn't at ease. Cid couldn't help but glance over, fingers tightening on the yoke. He wondered if they should have taken more time to read the reports compiled by the WRO. Whatever Vincent managed to read through must've been a doozy to put him on edge.

Unless he was still reeling from the morning's struggle for control. Cid gnawed on the inside of his cheek, nudging the plane further west, towards the smallest of islands.

"It's glowing," Vincent said.

Sure enough, the tide surrounding the island was awash with glowing turquoise. A huge river of lifestream flowed sluggishly from somewhere inside the woods, spilling out over the cliffs along the southern side of the island. The glow cut through the canopy, clearly marking the river's course from above.

"Shit. Lookit her bleedin'..."

Cid cast around for somewhere to land. On the far western shore, the trees gave way to a broad expanse of pale white sand. A beautiful amount of it was dark with moisture, indicating that the tide retreated very far. Dipping the nose of the plane down and beginning to slow, he aimed to come to a full stop just past the tide line.

"Hold onto ya britches!" he yelled, just before the front tires touched down.

The plane skidded, weaving and wobbling, but he held steady, grinning all the while. When they hit the dry sand, the wheels made grinding noises and great clouds of the stuff pattered against the underside. Yet, they came safely to a stop.

Vincent released his tight grip on the arms of his chair one finger at a time. The map and marker had fallen to the floor; the latter rolled off somewhere beneath the seat to clack against something.

"Alright, Vince?"

"Fine landing, Highwind," Vincent deadpanned.

Cid scoffed, thumbing his nose. His grin hadn't diminished a bit. "Oughta tell Reeve to get his ass in gear, roll out the tarmac wherever he wants us."

"He could afford it."

"Fuckin' _right_?"

As Vincent unstrapped and climbed out of his seat, Cid flicked through various switches, powering the engines down. He figured that unless things went catastrophically wrong in an unexpected way, they'd probably dig out the raft and go for a little fishing trip. Not like he could leave the plane running, since he had no intention of sending Vincent on alone or letting Cait Sith pilot.

"Whatcha think, anyone 'round to fuck us up?"

Vincent paused, already beginning to climb down the ladder. "It doesn't matter. Being unprepared for the worst is foolish." Then he was gone, clanking down the ladder and through the cargo hold.

Cid snorted, unstrapping and climbing out of his seat. He found his spear wedged between the wall and one of the lockers and dropped it down the ladder chute. After listening to the clank and clatter and Vincent's faraway exasperated sigh, Cid swatted the deactivated mechanical cat upside the head.

"Gold Saucer, ya furry fuck."

"No need to be so rough!!" Cait Sith complained, rubbing at its head as though it were a real creature.

"So ya _were_ watchin'." Cid refrained from spitting in disgust, sucking on his tongue behind grit teeth. He dug around in the locker until he found a small messenger bag, bulging with dynamite. "Watch the fuckin' plane. Call if somethin' happens."

"Where would I keep a phone?"

"Quit fuckin' around, Reeve," Cid snarled, and climbed down to grab his spear.

Vincent already opened the entrance hatch and stood out on the white sand, looking very out of place in the warm sunlight and salty breeze. He shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable, but his gaze was focused on the distant waterfall of mako. Cid moved to stand by him, spear propped on a shoulder. They exchanged a glance.

"Like old times, huh, Chief?"

"Gettin' nostalgic for all the shit sky boy dragged us through?"

"This had better not end in yet more silver-haired clones and unnecessary visits to resort towns..."

Cid laughed, and started marching up the beach. "If any silver haired fucks show up, we'll order special delivery, one blond idiot with a huge fuckin' sword to deal with that shit."

Vincent followed, drawing his gun and flicking the safety off. "And the resort towns?"

"Ehh. Which one should I not take ya on a date to?"

"Any of them."

Cid ducked under hanging vines and pushed between rubbery leaves, entering into the shade of the forest. "Ya still ain't no fun, Vince." He extended his spear, shoving the vines up out of the taller man's way.

"I have never pretended to be."

"Well for some fuckin' reason, I like ya anyway."

"Hmm." Vincent walked past him, taking the lead. The glow of mako was easy to see within the cool confines of the forest.

"And anyway, Mideel's a resort town!" Cid declared, triumphant.

"... Fine. Mideel might be a possible exception." Vincent looked over his shoulder as they approached the shoreline of the flow of mako. "Now focus, Cid."

"Yeah, sure."

He tapped out a cigarette and lit up, glancing up and down the stream. Vincent studied the lay of the land, came to some kind of conclusion, then began to walk, picking his way between the trees along the stream. Cid followed, trusting Vincent to guide them through the safest, most efficient route.

Watching the organic swirl of the tattered red cape kept him calmer. Kept him from looking too close at the disaster to his right. The stream gored the ground, leaving a glowing path of destruction behind. Uprooted trees lay in disarray, chunks of wood floating down the stream. Nothing living remained, only bloated corpses.

It reminded him that the planet was just a frightened baby, lashing out when she was hurt.

They followed the lifestream further inland, where the ground became a steady incline. Halfway up the hill, Cid spotted the first of many shallow caverns set deep beneath tangled tree roots. These became more common the higher they climbed. And the closer they came to the source, the deeper the channel ran. Crackling, snaking tentacles whipped out from the flow, skittering across rocks and fallen trees like grounded lightning. Vincent led them further away from the stream to avoid the planet's questing fingers.

A few feet below the bare, rocky hilltop, a cavern had been torn wide open. The remains of a huge tree hung precariously by its massive, tangled roots above the rushing stream of mako. The tendrils of energy lashed at it, peeling away bark and branches.

"Oh, hell," Cid breathed, standing next to Vincent a safe distance away. "How we gonna deal with _this_?"

A moment later, there came a loud rumble. Huge chunks of rock rolled down the hill, smashing into trees and splashing into the stream. Vincent stepped in front of Cid, yanked him down, and threw his cloak over both of their heads. Cid grunted, falling on his butt, and flailed briefly in Vincent's tight hold.

Mako splattered everywhere, hissing and sizzling. The minute the noise died down, Vincent stood and shed his cloak, kicking dirt over the glowing stains.

"Aw, damn." Still sitting, Cid blinked at the glowing puddles all around them. "Thanks, Vince."

Vincent inclined his head only slightly, frowning down at his cloak. The mako stopped short of completely destroying it, but the thing might never be safe to wear again. Cid stood and patted Vincent's shoulder. He couldn't imagine his friend without the trademark red cloak, but...

They had bigger problems. The miniature quake caused the cavern entrance to collapse, forcing the mako to pool up behind a makeshift dam of rocks and trees. An entire chunk of the top of the hill gave away, letting more of the lifestream bubble up. Soon, there'd be a whole lake of the stuff, and Cid didn't like their chances of blocking the source.

"This may be out of our hands, Highwind."

"Dammit. Did Reeve _know_ this was here?!"

"The reports indicated as much." Vincent sighed.

"What the fuck!" Waving his hand at the destruction, leaning his weight on the spear, he felt helpless fury. "The fuckin' WRO has the goddamn means to close this shit up before--"

Another rumble shook the ground. It was followed with an earsplitting shriek that sounded totally unlike the planet's mournful wails.

Blue eyes met red.

"I suspect we are about to meet the reason nothing has been done," Vincent said.

He popped his gun open, checking the ammunition. Then he swung the gun up, snapping the chamber back into place.

Cid straightened, hefting his spear. He tossed the bag of dynamite behind him, aiming for a sheltered cluster of roots away from the lifestream's reach.

Something long and serpentine burst from the top of the hill. Debris cascaded down in its wake. The lifestream gushed up, crackling and seeking but too slow to catch the monster. As the mako began to drop back down, the monster undulated in the air, twisting to and fro in complicated knots. It looked like some sort of--

"Why the fuck's it got so many legs?!"

"You aren't concerned about its size? Or that it's flying?"

Cid scoffed. "Ain't never had a problem jumpin' on big flying fucks before." He jabbed his spear up, pointing at the thing. "But that's a goddamn big ass bug!!"

His shouting caught the thing's attention. It let out another shriek, tucked its legs, and dove at them.

"Better jump, then," Vincent said, already diving to the side, firing. The bullets barely fazed the creature, ricocheting off the thing's armored carapace.

Cid swore, spreading his feet, bending his knees. He waited until the last second to launch himself up; the monster roared as it flew beneath him. He landed on its back and nearly fell off as the monster twisted sharply right. Only by jamming his spear between two spiny plates did he manage to hang on while the monster did a number of stomach dropping loop de loops to try and dislodge him. Black ichor spurted from the spear wound.

"Fuuuuuck!!"

Huge orbs of fire exploded all around him, hot air blowing his hair back, singeing the hair on his face, and making his eyes water. The creature screeched, jittering, and fell from the sky. It crashed through the treetops. Cid frantically yanked his spear loose and jumped away just before impact with the ground. He landed in a crouch on a tree branch, dripping spear held out at an angle behind him.

The monster was not dead, only disoriented. It thrashed about, legs flailing, until it managed to grasp a sturdy enough tree to pull itself upright. The huge, ugly head came up in front of Cid. Too many long antennae twitched about, trailing the tree trunk on either side of him. The mandibles flexed, ichor dripping between them.

"Hey, ugly," Cid growled.

He kicked off from the tree branch, swinging his spear. The creature jerked away too late; with a satisfying crunch, Cid sheared the left mandible clean off. A second later, bullets slammed into one of the monster's right eyes, pulverizing soft flesh, splattering Cid as he kicked off from the thing's face.

It _howled_ and the planet answered, wailing. The lifestream surged up, lashing all around in its search for the hated enemy.

Cid bounced off a nearby tree trunk, twisting in midair to catch a lower branch. He swung off it just in time to avoid being trampled as the monster charged forward, slamming its weight around to knock trees asunder. He landed and took off running with it twisting around on itself to give chase. Its thousands of legs tore the ground to pieces, flinging debris everywhere.

He barely registered the sound of gunfire as he scrambled up the hill, zigzagging away from the monster's thrashing limbs. At the top, he skidded, narrowly avoiding tumbling into the huge pool of mako. The hilltop resembled the open mouth of a volcano, except the lava was _alive_.

"Cid!!" Vincent yelled.

Caught between the monster and an oncoming tidal wave of mako, Cid threw himself to the side, mentally swearing because he didn't have the breath to spare.

He reacted too late. His last thought before glowing oblivion swept him up was of sad red eyes and a sky streaked with soft, warm colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Loveless eventually ended up being a totally separate thing in the compilation, but the OG sure had My Bloody Valentine posters. Thus, Cid is singing "867-5309/Jenny" by Tommy Tutone.


	13. the dream below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General warnings for bad trips and anxiety this week!

He fell.

The sky dropped away, clouds racing across the sky, colors changing from soft pinks and reds to the deepest blues. He twisted in the air, hit the water, and came out on the other side, high atop a cliff. Mako rushed over his feet, up to his shins. He stumbled back, slipped off the cliff, and watched the sky grow distant again as he hit the water with bruising impact.

He fell.

His shadows split into two men, identical in every way. They shared his blue eyes, but their hair was a darker blond, and they were shorter and softer than he. They didn’t belong here, none of them did, none of them knew what they were getting into. They had to get out. He took the lead, even though he was the youngest, and they fought through the hail of arrows and shuriken, through the pain and blood, until--

He fell.

A plane roared by overhead, buzzing and triumphant. The enemy troop flew in haphazard pursuit. More than a few trailed smoke. One veered down, desperately trying to land before the engine caught fire and exploded. Too late, they realized that they had strayed too far, past the trenches. A safe landing, only to be taken captive.

He fell.

Crashing through rotting timber, chunks of tile rained down around him. He hit the water with a splash, drenching the flowerbeds. Through the haze of pain, he thought, _good,_ because he hadn't ruined the flowers. The water pulled him into its cool depths, down where the light was but a single twinkling star far in the distance.

He fell.

The light grew and grew until it was all around him. He shielded his eyes with his hand. Little by little, his eyes adjusted. All around him, cute little yellow flowers bobbed in the wind.

"Aren't you a little early, Captain?" she asked.

"Never been late for a reason, sweet pea."

She laughed. "I'm too--" It sounded like she said _old_ , but what his brain processed was, "--young to be your sweet pea, Cid Highwind."

"What, we can't play nomores?"

"Don't you have someone waiting for you?"

"No, I--"

He tried to remember. His head filled up with buzzing static, and it _hurt_ , like his skull was home to stinging fire ants. He groaned, doubling over, clutching at his hair, and he _could not remember_. Light gave away to spotty darkness and agony.

He fell.

A thousand, thousand voices whispered all around him, but he could not understand any of it. Like the endless churning of a waterfall, the noise rushed through his head, leaving him shaking with a growing headache. It was too much and yet not enough.

The swell of voices grew. He wanted to ask them what they wanted. The more he tried, the less he remembered what _he_ wanted.

He fell.

The planet (he) screamed. Gaping holes all over its (his) body would not stop bleeding. Small insects chewed through its (his) skin, burrowing deeper and deeper, trying to get at his (its) tender heart. He (it) was alone in the endless void with nothing but pain.

He fell.

A terrible howl shook him to his core. Something sharp and hot tore into his side, sending him reeling head over heels. He spun off into the darkness, doubled over from the raw, scorching pain.

He fell.

Red eyes followed him down.

He fell.

"Cid!!” a man (woman) yelled.

He fell.

Heavy darkness weighed him down, crushing his bones to a fine dust. Too much heat, too much pain. He groaned, tried to roll onto his side, and found he couldn't move. Sparks flashed behind his eyelids, warning for the spikes of agony to come, crashing through his skull with enough force to make him wheeze and gasp.

Something cold and wet settled on his head. It dripped unpleasantly through his hair and down the sides of his face. The water trailed too far away from his dry, cracked lips.

 _Please,_ he thought, but didn't know what he asked for.

Cold filled his mouth, refreshing until it wasn't anymore. He choked on it, suffocated under the weight of it. Something wrenched him over, slapped against his back, made him spit it out. Every impact reverberated through him, setting his nerves alight all over again.

He didn't fall, no matter how much he wished he would, but he did pass out.

His dreams were blissfully empty but for a gentle voice chiding him.

"Why are you here again, Captain?"

"Got a lil lost, sweet pea."

"Huh." She didn't sound like she believed him. "Well, hurry back! You don't want him to wait anymore, right?"

"Right..."

He woke, wondering who was waiting for him. And why.

The bed was unfamiliar, too soft to be his own. Too many pillows and a thick, colorful quilt pinned him to the mattress. The walls of the room were a warm brown with ivory accents.

Beyond shapes and colors, he couldn't make details out. Everything was a muddled, distant blur.

"You're awake."

"Sweet pea," he croaked.

"I'm not her."

"No."

He strained himself to turn his head so that he could look at her. Dark brown, black and white clothes, warm, callused hands that could break him to pieces but touched him so gently as if afraid he might fly to pieces on his own.

His vision sharpened, everything sliding into focus so fast that it left him reeling and nauseous like everything rushed close. He groaned, squinting his eyes against her tired, sad smile, and tried not to throw up. She rubbed soothingly at his shoulder until the trembling passed.

He pawed at his arm, found it bare, and felt lost and alone and afraid. He could not remember what was supposed to be there, or why.

Curling in on himself, he clutched at his chest, but found only the thundering of his heart. Something missing there, too.

"Do you know your name?"

"...Chief."

"That's not quite right, is it?"

"Captain."

"Hmm. Close."

"Fuck you."

That startled a laugh out of her, and something tight and awful loosened in his chest. He could breathe again.

"C'mon, surely you can tell me your name..."

"Cid."

 _Highwind,_ a deep, dark voice full of promise said, curling hotly against his ear.

"Good. Do you know me?"

"Yea."

"What's my name?"

He should know. It slipped away from him, further and further away.

"I don't--"

"That's okay. You owe me a beer later, Captain."

"Sure," he agreed, unsure why he liked the idea of drinking with a woman whose name he couldn't remember.

"Do you remember how you got here?"

"No."

"What do you remember?"

The question irritated him. He ached for something hot and charring, a glowing orange speck in the dark, a curl of ashes floating up. Warm flesh against his, the exchange of something secret from one mouth to the other.

It was gone.

"I _don't_ fuckin' _remember_ , goddammit!"

"Okay."

He hated her implacable patience. Hated her kindness. Hated her sad brown eyes, her warm walls covered in nostalgic photographs he knew and did not know, her heavy quilt, and her too soft bed. He needed out. He needed the sky, crisp and cold and rushing by as he soared.

"Are you thirsty?"

The question threw him. His rising irritation tumbled away, bowled over by relief. He nodded, meek and weak.

She helped him sit up and pressed a glass of ice cold water against his lips. He drank greedily, spilling it down his chin. It dripped down his neck, pooling at his collar bone, soaking into the thin t-shirt he wore. She took the water away too soon, and he made a soft groan of protest, words escaping him.

"You'll make yourself sick," she chided.

"Okay, sweet pea."

He sank back down into the warm, heavy darkness, consciousness sliding away even as she protested, "I'm not her!"

Later, he woke to blue eyes and a mess of blond spikes that made him think of--

"Chocobo."

Spike-- _Cloud_ snorted, rolling his eyes. "Haven't heard that one before, Cid."

He didn't ask the questions that made Cid's head hurt. Instead he pulled Cid up into a sitting position a little roughly, then made him drink as much water as he could stomach.

"Thanks," Cid sighed, eyes closed against the prickling headache and the sloshing in his belly.

"No problem."

The clink of ice against glass when the cup got set on the bedside table--on a coaster, no less--was loud enough to make Cid jump. He stared, head in his hands, while Cloud muttered apologies.

"Uh, wanna go to the bathroom?"

Cid blinked. The uncomfortable fullness in his lower gut meant something, but he couldn't force words and understanding into their proper places. So he nodded, hoping Cloud knew what to do.

Cloud did. He hauled Cid up and maneuvered them from the room full of warmth and nostalgia into one that was cold and white yet comforting all the same. Cloud sat him on a seat with a hole full of water in its middle, and left him there to stand awkwardly at the door with his back to the proceedings. Acting on instinct, Cid pulled his boxers down and went through the motions.

He felt better, after, but dirty. Cloud seemed to know what to do about that, too, helping him into a spray of hot water. Cid slouched there, feeling the grime, aches, years, and memories sloughing off of him until nothing remained but a serene sense of calm.

"How long?" he asked, when Cloud fetched him back out and covered him with a fluffy towel.

"Uh." Cloud hesitated, thinking. He wasn't dumb, it just took him time to process what was said, sometimes. "...Three weeks. Found you at the church."

"Sweet pea..."

She said it was too soon. That he was keeping someone waiting.

"Where is he?"

"They're still looking."

He didn't know who _they_ were, but he knew they weren't looking hard enough. " _Fuck_ ," he snarled, and punched the wall.

That he left a deep crack in it startled them both. Cid yanked his bloodied hand against his belly, mouth agape, and Cloud hunched inwards, blue eyes gone greenish and cat-like and oh, so wary.

"The fuck's happened to me, Spike?" Cid whispered.

"You fell."

"Yeah. Sweet pea caught me..."

"In the lifestream, Cid. We... don't know how long you were in."

"The fuck's that _mean_?" he demanded, hating that he should _know_ but his brain felt hollowed out.

Cloud reached out, snagged the corner of the medicine cabinet, and pulled it open. The mirror on the door showed Cid his face. His eyes, glowing in the dark, because Cloud never turned the light on. Because neither of them needed it.

He fell, dropping gracelessly into unconsciousness, with Cloud's alarmed shouting ringing in his ears.

"I keep telling you, it's too soon," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, I fuckin' got it." He bent, plucked a flower, and stuck the stem between his teeth for something to chew on. "I'm not stayin'. I just needed a goddamn minute."

"Oh. That's okay, then." She smiled, turning to look out over the endless flower field. "Just don't keep him waiting for too much longer, okay?"

"How the fuck am I s'posed to remember who he is?"

"Captain, how could you forget?"

She whirled on him, pushing with both hands until he lost his balance, arms wheeling uselessly at his sides. He fell, her laughter following him.

Dark gave away to light, and next he knew, he sat up too fast in the too soft bed, kicking the heavy quilt off. Cloud jerked awake in the armchair by the bed, eyes casting an unnatural glow on his cheeks. The digital clock on the bedside table showed the numbers 0234 in red.

He thought of a long red cloak swaying at his sides, of the warm press of an arm against his own. Dark streets lit by neon lights, cold air billowing out of his lungs. Tired and not really wanting to be there but happy because he wasn't alone.

"...Not gonna get all fuckin' weird like you, am I?"

"Weird?" Cloud asked.

"Obsessin' over--" The name eluded him. Silver hair and green cat eyes. "--that fucker."

Cloud gave a quiet, bitter bark of laugh, getting out of his chair. "No." He offered a glass of water, not forcing it on Cid for once. "You're not SOLDIER. Just mako poisoning."

"Fuckin' _just_ ," Cid muttered, though he didn't quite know what he meant.

He took the water though, and drank. He took the help to the bathroom, too, and the watery, bland food that came after.

"I don't fuckin' wanna sleep anymore," he complained, but let himself be put back to bed, let sleep take him away, because he was too weak to be of any use to anyone.

And because Cloud promised, "We'll go find him together."

She waited for him in his dreams, hands on her hips and long braid swaying in the wind. He grinned sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head. The expected scolding never came.

"You're going to go find him, right?"

"'Course. He'd look for me."

She nodded. "Make sure you're ready. Let Cloud help."

"Yes, mom."

He ducked away from the hand swung at his shoulder, laughing.

"Miss ya, sweet pea. We all do."

"I know." She came closer, laying her hand against the glowing pink brand on his arm. "You were a good family." Green eyes peered into his. She smiled. "You were the best grandpa, even if you're way too young."

Then she pushed him; he fell through the flowers, splashed through the pond on the other side, and woke safe and sound in Tifa's bed.

The woman herself set her magazine aside. She occupied the chair with sunlight streaming through the windows behind her. "Good morning, Cid."

"Mornin', Tifa."

Saying her name earned him a big, happy smile that he returned. She pushed herself to her feet, tucked a stray lock behind her hair, and walked around the bed to the door.

"Are you okay to take care of yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay. I'll go fix breakfast. Come down when you're ready."

She left, and he stayed put, rubbing grit from his eyes. He looked around the room, sleepily naming objects--bed, table, lamp, chair, windows... His attention strayed to the contents of the photographs. He climbed out of bed and drifted around the room, looking and trying to place names to the faces he knew. Cloud, Tifa, Aerith, himself...

His gaze stopped on a dark haired man in a red, red cloak, his expression mostly hidden by hair and mantle. The eyes looked like the red glare of a flash reflecting off lenses badly.

Cid touched the glass over the image, mouth forming the syllables of a name he couldn't quite piece together.

"V..."

He had to find this man. His heart ached so bad, hammering against his ribs as if to break free, to go pounding madly after the shadow of memory. He spun on his heel, stumbled for the door, and thought of nothing but the intense need to go _now_.

"Hey, Cid."

He froze in the hallway, at the top of the stairs. Still in nothing but a shirt and boxers, missing vital pieces of his person, with no idea where he was going or how he was getting there.

 _"Always so reckless, Highwind,"_ a distant voice said.

Cid looked over his shoulder at Cloud. The blond man stood near the recently abandoned bedroom, a folded pile of clothes in his arms. On top of the pile sat a pink ribbon. His. He needed it. Cid walked over on wooden legs, accepting the bundle, and didn't protest being nudged to the bathroom.

Only after he stood under the hot spray of water in the shower did it occur to him that something else was missing. His fingers brushed against his chest, finding an emptiness there. He thought of dull silver and his name, and that was all. The details were gone.

“Dammit,” he swore, pressing the heels of his palms against his eye sockets hard enough to make stars burst behind his lids. It didn't help him remember.

He finished his shower and didn't fall. Someone had set out a travel kit containing a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, nail clippers, tweezers, comb, and razor. Naming them all made him feel calmer, less like he wanted to smash the mirror and add another hole in the wall. He groomed himself carefully, putting everything back the way it was before--

Before what?

He looked at the glowing blue eyes in the mirror. No green. Dragging his fingertips under his eyelids, he pulled at the skin and leaned close to the mirror. Nothing unusual in the whites of his eyes or hidden in the wet pink skin inside his lid. Only the glow marked any kind of change. It shimmered, like lights reflecting off ice. He shivered, as though cold, and turned away from the mirror to dress.

He got halfway down the stairs when memory snuck up on him. The taut tug of a chain around his neck, digging into his skin, not enough to keep him from falling. Red eyes widening when the chain snapped, his name shouted, gold claws tearing at the air. And falling, falling, falling.

Strong arms caught him, his name muffled against his shoulder. Cloud dragged him the rest of the way down the stairs and into the living room, depositing him on a couch. Cid stayed where he was put, boneless and dazed, gazing unseeing up at the whorls in the wood ceiling.

"Cid, are you alright? Cid!" Cloud's voice came from faraway. "Shit. Tifa!"

The sound of footsteps approaching. A soft, worried conversation between lifelong friends. He listened without registering meaning.

Cid jolted out of his daze with a hard slap. "Fuck! What the fuck was that for?!"

Tifa shrugged. "You left us again."

"Dammit." He rubbed at his sore cheek and rolled to his feet. "I'm so fuckin' sick of this goddamn _shit_."

"Give it time," Cloud advised.

"Ain't got the fuckin' time. He _needs me_."

"Vincent's--" 

The name struck something deep in his head, setting off reverberating bells. Cid swayed, pressing a hand to his head, and swore at himself. "God fuckin' _damn_ it. Get yer stupid ass together."

Tifa and Cloud exchanged glances. Cid pushed past both of them, unsure of where he was going but needing to be moving all the same. He ended up in the dining room, hesitating over a heaping plate of pancakes, fried eggs, charred bacon, crispy hash browns, and a steaming mug of tea.

"Hungry?" Tifa asked from behind him.

"...Yeah." It pained him to admit it. 

Pained him to take the seat and the time to eat. His skin _crawled_ with the need to go. Cid needed to find the red eyed man (Vincent, Vince, Vin), needed to know he was safe. The whys didn't particularly matter right then, just that it was the most important thing. The _only_ important thing.

Cloud and Tifa sat on either side of him while he ate. They talked about plans for travel, about finding sitters or whether Shelke could handle it, about the things they needed to pack, about how they were going to retrace Cid's steps from the church to wherever he'd fallen in.

"The cat," Cid said, around a mouthful of potatoes.

They were both looking at him, confused but waiting.

"The man... behind the cat. He saw, didn't he?"

"Reeve," the two said, simultaneous.

Tifa stood, pulling her phone out of a pocket, and left the room. That left Cloud to watch him eat. He ignored the searching looks, focusing on shoving every last bite of food down.

 _Vincent,_ he thought, and _wait for me,_ even though he had a feeling too many others forced Vincent to wait in the past. It wasn't fair. His cheeks became damp, surely from the tea's steam. He put his face in his hand and tried not to shake apart under the weight of something huge and impossibly painful.


	14. only a crack

Tifa strode into the dining room, her phone call concluded. She took up her seat next to Cid and laid her hand against his arm, below the pink ribbon. He didn't think he could handle it if she'd touched him like the other girl, the one watching over them from the other side.

"Reeve says you and Vincent took on a job for him."

That felt right.

"Yeah." His voice came out croaky and hoarse. He cleared his throat, and when that didn't budge the lump, he downed the rest of his lukewarm tea. "I don't remember what for, but yeah."

“Over four weeks ago.”

Both Cloud and Cid sat up a little. Cloud was the one to say it, “But we found him _three_ weeks ago!”

Tifa nodded.

A whole week in the drink. Cid slouched back down, head spinning. No wonder his eyes started going weird. It was a miracle he ever opened his eyes again, nevermind retaining so much of his own personality. Or he hoped it was his own. Tifa and Cloud weren't acting to the contrary.

"You were last seen north of Rocket Town."

Rocket Town... Not where he was born, but his hometown all the same. Towering iron struts reaching for the sky where his fingers no longer had to because... because... The memories slipped away, and he gripped at his hair in frustration, like the act could physically force the memories back into place.

Tifa's hand tightened on his arm, calming, but it was another hand settling into his hair that eased some of the tension. He looked over and Cloud gave a strained smile. Of anyone, he knew what Cid was going through.

"Take it a little at a time," Cloud advised. "Don't fight it too hard."

"Sure. Sure. Okay." Cid ducked his head and breathed until the rolling turmoil of his thoughts eased. "...Shera." Brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and soft body. "I talked to Shera. Have I talked to her since?"

"Probably not," Tifa said.

"Damn. She'll be _pissed_." And that felt like deja vu, except everything else about the scene was different. "Expired potions."

To their credit, neither of his friends commented on his seemingly unrelated mumbling. They waited and they watched.

"... I didn't get around to callin' ya." Cid glanced at Tifa. "Sorry."

She shook her head with a rueful smile. "I'm used to elusive blonds not knowing what their phones are for..."

Cloud coughed a laugh into his fist, gaze averted. Cid grinned, dragging his hand up his cheek.

"What else?" Cid asked.

Tifa set her phone on the table, face up, and nudged it towards him. The screen showed a blurred image of the inside of some place made of metal and hard leather seats, with a distracting strip of red in one corner, and something black and gold framing the image. The lower half of the picture was lost to static. Cid stared at the red for a long, long time, his head filled with gunfire and smoke and strawberry sweets.

Reluctantly, he took in the rest of the image. The room meant something. He frowned, mouthing through words that were close but weren't right--

"First. _The First_." He slapped his hand against the table next to the phone, making it bounce. "My goddamn plane!"

"This was the last image from Cait Sith, Cid," Tifa explained. "Before the planet pulled the island you were on under the water."

"No."

His heart sank, like the island. Why would sweet pea do that? For that matter... Cid looked at the picture again, realizing they were looking through the eyes of the mechanical cat. At Vincent. In the _First_. Why would Vincent be the last thing Cait Sith saw before termination?

"What the fuck's goin' _on_?" Cid hunched over, head in his hands. "Vincent... where did you _go_?"

Cloud stood and sidled over to throw an arm around his shoulder. Tifa did the same on the other side. He sank, trusting them to keep him afloat, and floundered through his sorrow and fear.

Much later, Cid sat at the bar of the 7th Heaven, watching Tifa and Cloud go through inventory. An untouched mug of tea, generously loaded with whiskey, sat on a coaster before Cid.

He didn't feel like drinking. Didn't feel like anything, really. A great wave of apathy crashed over him because there was no point to anything if Vincent was _gone_. Four weeks and not one of their gang had seen Vincent. Not since the island got sucked down under the ocean.

The Turks had no news either, not even sweet little Elena, who doted on Vincent like a weird uncle that didn't know how to take care of himself. He didn't know why he knew that but not more important details like--

"We promised, didn't we? The fuck did we promise?"

Cid laid his forehead on the bar top. He dragged the hot mug of tea close enough to his cheek that he could feel the warmth seeping into his skin like the breath of the man who'd infrequently slept next to him for so many years.

"To feel normal," he muttered.

But no, that wasn't it. That was a joke between friends, shared among all of them. Birthdays and anniversaries and reunions and helping each other move and vacations. The whole shebang of normalcy.

What did normal friends do when one died--or at least when MIA? He frowned, working his jaw.

"Hey, Cid." Cloud's voice.

Cid lifted his head just enough to prop his chin against the wood. Opposite of him, Cloud leaned against the bar with his arms folded.

"Yeah?"

"You wanna go do something? Spar or..." Cloud shrugged. "Smoke?"

"Shit, I haven't had a goddamn cigarette in fuckin' forever," Cid groaned, and thumped his forehead back down against the bar top.

"Wanna go get one?"

As much as he craved it, he wanted something else more. It felt like another little betrayal to even think of smoking without Vincent, but that was stupid because Vincent--

_"Those things will kill you."_

" _You're_ killin' me."

"Cid?"

"What?" Cid blinked, sat up, and stared at Cloud. He'd forgotten the other blond was there. "No, yeah, I mean. Fuck I want one, but I'm gonna wait. For him."

"...Oh." Cloud tilted his head, like he did when he discovered something interesting. "Well... do you wanna spar?"

"With what, this damn tea?"

Cloud laughed at him, more of a breathy wheeze than anything. "C'mon."

Cloud pushed away from the bar, heading for the door. Hesitating, Cid glanced at Tifa. She made a shooing gesture, and then waved as Cid followed Cloud out of the building.

A huge, ugly bike sat on the curb. It took Cid a minute to remember the thing's name, even though Cloud had come to him for help building it. _Fenrir_. Cloud stood by the bike, pulling two pairs of goggles from one of the hidden compartments. He offered a pair to Cid.

"...where're mine?" Cid took the goggles, thoughtlessly adjusting them while never looking away from Cloud.

"You were practically naked when we found you." Cloud shrugged, pulling his own goggles on. "At least you can't get in trouble for missing calls if your phone's _gone_."

Cid placed his palm flat against his chest. The thump of his heartbeat didn't feel reassuring because something was _missing_. He fervently hoped his fragmented memories weren't playing tricks on him and that the bit of silvery chain still had a chance to exist. That it broke before he fell.

A fist bumped against his shoulder, drawing him out of his reverie. Cloud nodded at him, understanding evident on his face.

"This is goddamn _exhaustin'_. How the hell ya deal with this _and_ leadin' us, back then."

"Didn't, really."

Cloud climbed into the bike, starting it up. He peered expectantly at Cid. The rumble of the engine was oddly soothing; motorcycles weren't Cid's thing, but honestly, he got along with any machine. He itched to take it apart and put it back together again, to quiet the uneven hitches that meant loose wires or old tubing. Instead, he climbed on behind Cloud and hung on for dear life when they pulled out into the streets and roared off at breakneck speeds. Cid couldn't help but let out a whoop as they left everything behind but for the vibration of locomotion between his legs and the press of a familiar body against him. It felt good, even if it was the wrong machine and wrong person.

They went far outside of Edge, away from the ruins of Midgar. The landscape remained rocky and mostly barren for miles outside of the city. The sky became slightly less tinged with pollution, the blue deepening until it no longer looked washed out.

Cloud brought them down into a wide ravine, where the earth was packed flat. He pulled up to a small metal shed on the far side and parked the bike under the canvas overhang. Cid slid off the bike, pushing the borrowed goggles up onto his head, and walked a few steps to stretch his wobbly legs.

Meanwhile, Cloud shed his goggles, hanging them off the bike's handlebars, and went to unlock the shed. Curiosity made Cid shuffle over to peer inside. Racks of weaponry and locked cases containing materia covered every available surface. It looked like Cloud collected all of their old, discarded armaments, hanging onto them. Maybe he knew they'd always have to fight to protect the planet.

While Cloud retrieved a plain, double tipped spear and a battered SOLDIER 3rd class sword, Cid noticed a distinct lack of shuriken in the shed. It made sense, like the absence of guns. Neither Vincent nor the girl were the kind to trash a weapon, though for different reasons. He couldn't think of her name, only of her bubbly, mischievous nature and penchant for greed.

Cloud pushed the spear into his hands and nudged him out to the middle of the ravine. They stood a few feet apart, facing each other. Cid twirled the spear experimentally, recalling the heft of it and wondering if he'd forgotten how to use it.

"You know the mako changed you," Cloud said. "You broke the wall but not your hand."

"... Yeah. So, what?"

"So jump."

Cloud rushed at him, swinging the sword in a wide horizontal arc. Memory told him that he shouldn't be able to see Cloud coming, not at those speeds. Instinct had him leaping away, shoving off from the ground so hard he left cracks. He rocketed through the air, further than he meant to, and flailed to correct himself before he went ass over head. He hit the ground hard, kneeling in a five inch crater. Somehow, nothing broke, nothing hurt. Cid surged up to his feet, staring at his body like it belonged to somebody else.

"Holy shit!"

Cloud took a relaxed stance, sword propped on his shoulder. "See? We'll need to practice."

"No shit." Cid stepped out of the crater, tapping his boots to shake off dust. "But wait, ain't the reason ya all enhanced 'n shit cuz of... that freaky tentacle fuckstick?"

"Jenova. Yeah." Cloud bobbed his head and gazed thoughtfully off into the distance. "Sephiroth might still linger in the lifestream." His blue eyes narrowed when he looked back at Cid. "Or maybe she helped you out."

"Jenova? Helpin' my ass out?"

Cloud shook his head.

"Sweet pea...?"

"Yeah."

Cid rubbed at his mouth, wishing he had something to chew on. An entire week spent in the lifestream. An entire week unaccounted for but for hazy hallucinations he already struggled to recall. He visited her, though, of that he was certain. She always helped them when they needed it. Never asked for anything in return.

"The job with Reeve. Did he tell ya what it was?"

"Nuh-uh." Cloud didn't bat a lid at the abrupt topic shift.

"Damn secretive bastard."

Cid tapped the tip of the spear against his boot and decided that she hadn't asked him for anything, but that it felt right to assume he'd been doing something for her anyway. That she'd pushed so hard to see him safely to her church, to Cloud and Tifa's care, because there was still stuff he needed to do, if not for her, then for the broken little planet they called home.

"Okay, I'm done fuckin' ruminatin'," he told Cloud. "Gonna beat yer ass black'n'blue, cart ya home on that god awful bike of yers."

Cloud snorted, sliding his feet apart, sword held out before him. "Bring it."

Cid launched himself forward, slicing down. As expected, Cloud swung the sword up at an angle, blocking. Cid brought his legs up in midair, grinning. The impact of metal on metal caused sparks, and the next moment, Cid kicked off from Cloud's stomach, sending the other blond staggering back.

The increased speed and strength was exhilarating now that he knew to expect it. He twisted in the air, touching down on the ground with one hand, and flipped himself up just in time to avoid a wide slash from Cloud that came so fast that it caused a blast of wind. Cloud didn't let up, racing after Cid to meet him on landing with a series of furious blows. It was all Cid could do to brace his feet, spear held in both hands. He wouldn't go down that easy.

"That it, old man?" Cloud taunted.

He brought the sword down against the shaft of the spear so hard that Cid's legs quivered and almost gave out. Cid sucked in a breath, waiting until the sword got lifted. In the split second he had between then and the next swing, he dropped and swung his left leg in a low arc. Cloud leapt up to avoid getting his legs swept out from under him; Cid jabbed the spear into the opening. The blades shrieked, sparking, as they clashed, and just like that, Cloud was on the defensive, retreating and blocking Cid's attacks.

Back and forth, all afternoon, Cid got the workout of his life. He only managed to make Cloud retreat a few times. More often than not, it was all he could do to keep from being totally overwhelmed.

Cloud never did anything by halves, always forcing the rest of AVALANCHE to keep up or be left behind on guard duty. Cid used to think he did pretty well, all things considered, but now he knew mako enhancements were another thing entirely. He couldn't be sure Cloud wasn't holding back against him while they sparred, but by the time they limped into the apartment that evening, both were bloodied and bruised. He couldn't stop grinning, pleased with himself.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Tifa quipped, holding out two opened bottles of ice cold beer. "Get into the dining room."

Obediently, both men accepted the drinks and went to sit at the table. A first aid kit already sat open, rolls of gauge and pads and disinfectant at the ready. Tifa walked into the room tugging at her gloves. She wore a bangle gleaming with green materia under the pink ribbon on her arm.

"You're way too ready for this, lady," Cid said, taking a generous sip of his beer. He sighed with satisfaction at the very light burn and the tasty, if bitter, flavor.

"At least I had warning this time!" With that, she slapped her hands on Cloud's shoulder with more force than strictly necessary, activating her Cure materia.

Cloud gave an undignified yelp, hissing as bruises and cuts faded away, leaving only dried blood behind. Cid laughed at him until Tifa turned on him.

Afterwards, she checked them over for greater injuries. Cid had a decent slash on his side that thankfully wouldn't need stitches. He swore the whole time she cleaned and bandaged it, and tried not to break her table or the beer bottle. Cloud had a couple good holes in his arm and legs, one of which did need stitches.

"Not bad for an old man on his first day out," Tifa decided.

Cid grinned at her. "Didn't quite knock his ass out like I wanted, but eh. Next time."

Cloud scoffed. "As if."

"Well." Tifa picked up her own bottle of beer to take a swig. "While you boys were off kicking each other silly, I've made arrangements. Barret will be here in the morning to keep an eye on things. The WRO will pick us up from the airport."

"I can fly," Cid grumped.

Tifa patted his arm consolingly. "Mako poisoning side effects take a while to completely fade..."

"This fuckin' sucks."

Cloud raised his bottle toward Cid, smirking when their bottles were clinked together. "No joke."

"Anyway! Tomorrow, we'll fly out to meet Reeve and find out what he knows." Tifa leaned forward on her left arm, raising her beer. "I've ordered takeout, so let's celebrate! To Highwind, the man who doesn't know how to stay down."

"To Cid," Cloud said, at the same time that Cid murmured, half-hearted, "To me."

Between the three of them and the three teenagers that came bounding in around the same time as the Wutaiian delivery, they managed to demolish too many takeout boxes to count, half a pack of sodas, and for the adults, a case and a half of beer.

The kids seemed delighted to see Cid awake. Denzel filled him in on all the mischief he and his friends had gotten up to since Vincent’s birthday party. Marlene painted his nails a sparkly gunmetal blue. Shelke interrogated him on everything he remembered about Vincent and impatiently corrected him when he was wrong.

It was exhausting. His head buzzed from too much happening all at once. Tifa and Cloud took pity on him around 2235, herding the kids upstairs despite protests.

Cid fell asleep on the couch under a ratty red throw blanket. His dreams were full of indistinct colors and warmth that gave away to a bone-chilling cold. It felt like drowning, sinking further and further away from the glint of silver and gold.


	15. in this castle

All through the flight from Edge, Cid fidgeted. He drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, he crossed and uncrossed his legs, and he dragged his hands through his hair, tugging at it near the base of his skull. When he wasn't the one in charge, he hated flying. At his right, Cloud stared out the window and feigned ignorance of his restless behavior.

Tifa sat across the aisle. She kept shooting Cid looks, but never told him to settle down. About thirty minutes in, she held out a pack of gum with a stick already halfway out. Cid stared at it, wondering why his heart clenched, and took the offered stick with a shaking hand. It wasn't peppermint flavor, which was an immense relief he couldn't articulate.

He stayed still for as long as it took for the fruity flavor to fade away. Then he spat the gum out into its wrapper and stuck it in the pouch at the back of the seat in front of him. No one sat in that chair, so he took to idly kicking it, thinking up a new swear with each thump.

Cloud, not Tifa, reached out to press a hand on his knee, stilling him. Blue eyes locked in a silent contest of wills. Cid's jaw worked, but not a sound came out.

Then Cloud smirked, and Cid let loose all the curses bottled up in his head, one long stream that only made Cloud grin, unfazed.

The WRO agents in the cabin shifted uneasily and politely looked away. Even the co-pilot, who came to check on them, decided to say nothing and retreat back to the cockpit.

"Feel better, Captain?" Cloud asked, when Cid ran out of breath.

He yelped a minute later when Cid cuffed him upside the head. Tifa laughed at them both, muttering about "ridiculous blonds".

The WRO took them north of Mt. Nibel, some fifty or sixty miles west of Rocket Town. There, a base had been set up on the coast, complete with docks and naval ships.

About ten miles south of the base, Cloud jostled Cid, leaning out of the way so he could look out the window. The tail end of a plane jutted out from the side of one of Mt. Nibel's smaller spikes. A camp of some sort surrounded it, dozens of tiny figures bustling around. From so far up, Cid couldn't for sure identify the craft, but he had a foreboding feeling like drowning all over again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Cid bent over, putting his head against his knees. His breaths came in short, harsh pants. As he made to grab at his hair, Cloud grabbed one forearm and Tifa sat in the middle of the aisle to grab his other hand.

Neither of them wanted to let go of him through the landing process, but the WRO agents insisted everyone return to their seats, buckle in, and sit upright. Cid gripped the arms of his chair, staring up at the light panel overhead, while the plane dipped ever downwards. The thump of the wheels hitting the tarmac reassured him that he wasn't falling again.

The trio grabbed their things and left the plane in a tight huddle. The man behind the cat--Reeve--met them on the tarmac. Not a cat in sight. He looked older than Cid's hazy memories said he should be, with dark bags under his eyes and hair not quite as neat as usual.

"Cid! You have no idea how relieved I am to see you."

Worry and grief, Cid realized. He stepped forward and smacked his fist against Reeve's shoulder, mindful of his enhanced strength.

"Like I'd fuckin' die to somethin' like that."

"Ha! My bad, of course an island sinking couldn't possibly stop you..."

Cid grunted, shrugging. He glanced off to the side as Tifa and Cloud exchanged pleasantries, longing to go check out the crashed plane.

Reeve seemed like a mind reader when he said, "We looked in all the wrong places, led astray by the wreckage. I'm sorry I didn't think of the obvious... I should have called."

" _Honestly_." Tifa threw her hands up in the air. "Our dead friend keeps more in touch than the lot of you!"

But all Cid could zero in on was: "It's my plane. The _First_."

Reeve nodded. He motioned for them to follow, leading them to a nearby buggy. Cid climbed into the back with Cloud, while Tifa sat up front with Reeve driving. WRO agents ringed them in a loose protective formation, piling into two other buggies, taking up the lead and rear.

They drove out to the camp and the wreck. Cid didn't even have to get that close to recognize the _First_.

"Where's Vincent?" he demanded, once they stopped at the camp's edge and piled out of the buggy.

"We... haven't found any signs of him. Not here, nor any of his usual haunts." Reeve hunched his shoulders, exactly like his mechanical creations. "I'm sorry."

Trapped by a trio of sad, pitying stares, Cid didn't want to be there anymore. Helpless rage washed over him. He clenched his fists and his jaw and dammit, it wasn't raining, not there, not in front of all the nobodies in WRO uniforms watching them.

Tifa acted fast, pulling him back into the buggy. She rolled the window up with hard jerks, then yanked Cid against her shoulder.

"We're going to find him," she said, fiercely.

Cloud filled the opposite window, leaning with his back to them to block curious gawking. "We will."

Reeve settled awkwardly next to Cloud, waving his hands to dismiss the agents. He said nothing, but the sheer fact that he was there, without any of his usual tricks, and not running away, spoke volumes.

"We promised..." Cid dug his fingers into his knees, but the promise still eluded him.

Little by little, he pulled himself together. As he did, the urge to be moving, to be doing _something_ grew until he felt tightly wound and ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He squeezed Tifa's shoulder and sat up, nudging Cloud out of the way so he could get out of the buggie.

"I wanna see it." He looked towards the plane.

Reeve nodded. "Okay. Follow me."

Where the commissioner went, the WRO parted respectfully, saluting. Cid followed close behind, shoulders squared and jaw grit. Bringing up the rear were Cloud and Tifa, shoulder to shoulder as if they expected to have to catch Cid again.

The _First_ sat behind a perimeter of watchful guards and orange traffic barricades. Reeve exchanged a few murmured words with one of the guards and they were allowed through. Agents idled all around the area; the plane was a point of waning interest, likely already picked over. Most of the agents looked _bored_ , like it didn't _matter_ that this was the last place Vincent had been seen.

Ugly rage gnawed at the pit of his stomach, boiling up the back of his throat, making his skin flush red. He shoved past Reeve, stomping towards the plane. Anyone that came near him to try and stop him got shoved bodily away.

"Get the fuck away from my goddamn fuckin' plane, ya useless piles of dog shit!"

Guns were drawn and trained on him. WRO soldiers regarded him warily over the barrels. He stopped, glaring around, fists flexing, and _ached_ for the spear left behind in the buggie.

Tifa slid in between him and the guns on his left. Cloud did the same on his right. Reeve was last, stepping in front.

"Stand down! This man is the rightful owner of the plane and all of its contents."

As one, the guns were lowered. The soldiers saluted, awaiting further orders.

"Break down this camp and prepare to return to base."

The flurry of activity picked up, relief palpable. Cid scuffed his boots in the dirt, gnashing his teeth, and hissed out a steady stream of curses, mostly comprised of "fuck"s, "shit"s, "damn"s, and a rare few "ass"es. His friends continued to pen him in until the majority of the WRO were out of the way. Then Reeve stepped aside, an arm extended towards the plane.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever." Cid thumbed his nose and marched the rest of the way to the wreckage, climbing the scaffolds framing it.

While Reeve stayed at the base of the scaffolding with Tifa, Cloud climbed up right behind Cid. He stopped at the top of the scaffolding when Cid thrust a palm out towards him.

Cloud shrugged. "I'll be right here, then."

Cid nodded. He needed to see the wreck for himself. The WRO hadn't found anything, but they didn't know Vincent as well as he did. Or had, given that his memories still felt hazy and scattered at best.

The front half of the plane was totally smashed. Nothing remained of the nose, including the gunner's nest and the cockpit. All that remained was the back half of the plane, an empty cargo bay that sat at a downward slant. The WRO planted handholds and ropes along the walls to allow for climbing in and out. Cid did not descend, choosing to sit on the lip of the entrance hatch as he peered into the gloom.

The floor, ceiling, and walls were covered in deep, jagged gashes. Nothing on the outside of the plane suggested it was caused by the crash. One particularly long slash curved all the way out, to where a panel had been ripped from the wall. The entrance hatch itself lacked a door; all that remained were the mangled stumps of the hinges.

"...Vincent..."

Cid put his gloved fingertips against the largest gash in the metal. His head filled up with a low rumble that couldn't be machinery. It should have been terrifying but wasn't.

"What did we fuckin' promise?"

Still the answer eluded him.

He twisted around without getting up, peering out across the landscape. As ever, Mt. Nibel loomed in the distance, prickly and unapproachable. The logical conclusion _would_ be that Vincent went that way, and it took him a minute to recall why. The mansion. The cabin. The cave.

But if Reeve and his expansive resources through the WRO didn't find Vincent in the "usual haunts", that meant the man in red either hadn't gone that way or he hadn't stuck around.

"Hey, Cloud."

"Yeah?"

Cloud shuffled closer, hands in his pockets. But not too close, offering the downed plane the same kind of respectful distance he might a coffin at a funeral. Cid appreciated Cloud’s weirdness right then.

"Ya ever overhear Vincent an' me talkin' 'bout... goin' anywhere?"

Cloud shook his head. "I tried not to listen too closely. Vincent didn't talk much anyway."

Cid nodded. That answer was about what he expected. He drummed his fingers on his knees, rocking on his heels despite the danger of falling into the belly of the wreckage. All of a sudden, he stood and leapt off the scaffolding, landing near Tifa and Reeve.

"Get down here, Spike!" Cid yelled, and then waited until Cloud joined them. "Help me remember, what kinds of shit did Vincent like?"

"Sleeping and being alone," Reeve offered.

"Uhh... guns." Cloud shrugged. "Red. Books?"

" _Mystery_ books," Tifa clarified. "Rare meat. Hard candies. Strawberries." She pointed at Cid, smiling sadly. "And you, definitely."

With each thing offered up, Cid felt his memories slot into place. He squeezed his eyes shut against the flash of images and whirlwind of sensations.

A red cloak flapping in the wind on the outer decks of his airship, the man unaffected by the frigid air blasting his dark hair back from his face. The crack of gunfire and enemies felled in gushing spurts of blood. An overstuffed shelf, surrounded by leaning stacks of books, many of them packed with notations.

A wary, hopeful look, as he said, _"No worries, we'll go!"_

"Wrong promise," Cid muttered. "That's if we were _together_." He smacked his thigh, frustrated, and blew out a long exhale, shaking his head. Then he sized the others up, meeting each of their gazes in turn. They all looked worried. "Thanks, guys. Dunno what the fuck I'd do if ya weren't here puttin' my ass back together."

Tifa nudged his shoulder with her knuckles, hard enough to make him stagger. Cloud nodded, arms folded, and looked off towards the mountains. Trying and failing to be aloof, just like old times.

"We were able to recover very few things, if you want to look at them," Reeve offered.

"Yeah, sure. Then we gotta fuckin' _mosey_." Cid said the word while kicking at Cloud's ankle, grinning. He didn't make contact, but managed to kick a fair bit of dust onto the other man's boots.

" _One time_ , Cid!" Cloud shrugged, shaking his head. "I said it one time!"

His protests went ignored, as the others walked off on him.

In one of the nearby tents, a number of plastic bins and baggies sat on foldout tables. Most of the contents were badly mangled. Some were charred. Nothing looked salvageable. Cid still recognized most of it, as he went through it all. The other three waited respectfully outside of the tent, talking in low voices.

Tattered strips of paper in one of the bags caught Cid's eye. He picked it up, shifting the contents around, and made out a smoke-stained piece of map, showing part of the eastern content. Another piece showed Gold Saucer, with a corner of red writing where the paper had been torn.

Frowning, Cid pushed one of the bins off the table. It crashed to the ground, spilling burnt canned goods. 

Tifa peeked into the tent, eyebrows up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Cid answered, absently.

He upended the contents of the bag on the table and began to rearrange them. Then he stood there, hands on his hips, and frowned, because a ruined map with too many holes and vague notes in red marker was not the least bit helpful.

"Reeve!"

The man came into the tent, but stayed near the entrance. "Yes?"

"What'd you lot find out 'bout this map?"

"It seems Vincent compiled the mission data for ease of navigation. Aside from burns from the crash, it's been torn up."

Cid nodded, accepting the explanation. The parts that were missing were all from fire. It was unlikely that Vincent had taken any part of the map with him. As a clue, it held no value, but his eyes roved it anyway, taking in half familiar town names and the lay of a land he'd flown over so many times. Places they went to chasing a silver-haired bastard and places he meant to revisit one day.

Again and again his eyes lingered on Junon. The more he looked, the more his lungs tightened up, denying him air. His vision darkened, spots dancing before his eyes. He felt the cold weight of millions of pounds of water pressing down on him.

And then it was gone, dispelled by three hands pressed to his back, arm, and chest. Cid gasped, sucking down air, and blinked from Tifa, Cloud, and Reeve.

"Alright, Cid?" Tifa asked.

"I--" He wheezed, head spinning.

_They stood in a long, long tunnel, glass on all sides. Up ahead, Cloud and the others yelled, racing after the enemy. Cid and Vincent had fallen behind, on orders to watch the group’s back._

_Vincent peered up, watching schools of fish drift by. Cid moved to stand next to him, shoulders almost but not quite touching. They looked at each other, neither speaking._

_The dim lights made Vincent’s eyes glow. Cid thought of ruby red drops of blood, drip, drip, dripping between them like promises, even though that came much later._

As Tifa squeezed his arm, reassuring and concerned, the other two watched in tense silence. Cid jerked his head up and down, still gulping down huge lungfuls of air.

"I know where I need to look." He nudged Cloud aside and picked up the piece of paper showing Junon and the surrounding ocean. "Got a broody bastard to wake up."

_"Take me where my ghost can't see the sky, so I won't wander off from ya."_

Reeve led them from the tent, back to the buggies. As before, he took the driver’s seat. However, Tifa and Cloud switched places so that she could loop her arm with Cid’s. They returned to the WRO base, where he had a pair of agents escort them to the airstrip to wait while he went to make arrangements.

Courtesy of the WRO, a small plane with four seats was turned over for their use. Cid insisted on flying, not wanting to bring an outsider along. As a matter of safety, Cloud took the co-pilot's seat, as Tifa was more likely to punch the dash if something went wrong.

Reeve needed to stay behind to oversee a countless number of internal affairs, on top of ensuring that Highwind Enterprises safely reclaimed the wreckage. Just before their departure, he gripped Cid's upper arm tight, below the pink ribbon.

"Let me know if you find our friend."

"Sure thing. I'll bring him 'round so ya can kick his ass for breakin' ya shit."

Reeve gave him a tight smile that showed the faintest hint of a tooth. "I would appreciate that. It's not very nice, breaking someone else's toys."

Then the commissioner of the WRO stepped back to watch them pile into the plane and lift off. His soldiers flanked him on either side, saluting. Cid gave a jaunty salute of his own right before roaring down the runway to take to the skies.

He took the shortest possible route, staying quiet and focused, flying like he used to when he was young and fleeing enemy planes. Tifa and Cloud’s voices were a quiet murmur he barely registered. If they spoke to him, he didn't notice and they didn't press the issue.

Blessedly, he had no mako-induced fits during the flight. He did not fall, and they did not fall from the sky.


	16. hardly anything there

Overall, the structure of Junon hadn't changed much since ShinRa's fall. The upper city remained, now powered by anything but mako--primarily wind and water, but coal and gas were common household fuels. The WRO commandeered the military base, demolishing most of it to make room for more public works projects, like schools or homeless shelters. Reeve's altruism knew no bounds.

The airstrip was just the same, needing to be large enough for WRO's coming and goings, the _Shera_ 's regular appearances, and civilian aircraft. Cid landed as soon as air control gave him the go ahead. He hopped out of the plane almost before the engines were fully powered down, hefting his spear up on his shoulder. Cloud and Tifa were right at his heels.

The WRO were expecting them, thanks to Reeve calling ahead. Several crew members walked past the new arrivals, going straight to work attending to the plane. Two higher ranked officers saluted, then motioned for the group to follow, leading away from the airstrip to a waiting car.

"The commissioner advised us to offer whatever assistance we can."

"Thank you," Tifa said, since neither Cid nor Cloud were interested in pleasantries.

The shorter agent, a handsome older woman, got into the driver's seat, starting the car up, while her male partner held a back door open for their guests. The trio climbed into the back seat, with Cloud in the middle. Tifa shot an amused smirk at Cid, and he found himself grinning back, jostling Cloud with his elbow. Cloud rolled his eyes, pushing back.

Luckily for everyone involved, the car was roomy enough for Cid and Cloud's huge weapons and all of their belongings to sit on the floor near their feet. As trustworthy as Reeve was, Cid would bet a sizable sum of gil that none of them relished the idea of stowing their gear in the trunk of an unknown car.

After shutting the back door, the male agent got into the passenger seat. He rolled the window down, draping his arm on the door.

"Where would you like to go?" the woman asked, looking into the rearview mirror.

With Cloud and Tifa's eyes on him, Cid answered, "The reactor."

"Sir? The WRO dismantled that some time ago..."

Cid made an abortive gesture with his hand, clenching it into a fist that he pressed into his knee. "I fuckin' knew that." He glared out the window to his left. Made himself breathe until he could articulate.

All the while, everyone in the car watched him. His skin crawled with the urge to throw the car door open and storm off without them. Knowing they would just follow, making sympathetic clucking noises kept him from moving. No wonder Cloud was always so angry back then, never getting any damn space to _think_.

"Y'all didn't tear down the tunnel."

"Ah." Understanding filled the woman's eyes, as she finally began to drive. "No, sir. The elevator was deactivated, of course, but youths sometimes make the long trip down the stairs anyway, you know..."

"Lover's lane, twenty thousand leagues beneath the sea," her partner quipped.

Cid scoffed. "Not anymore, it ain't."

"Would he really want to go down there?" Tifa sat forward, eyeing Cid over Cloud's lap.

With a one-shouldered shrug, Cid propped his elbow against the window, leaning his cheek against his fist. He watched the scenery roll by without much interest.

The WRO agents dropped them off at the old, abandoned elevator. The woman popped the trunk open as the man advised, "There's lanterns if you want them."

Neither Cloud nor Cid needed extra light with mako-enhanced eyes, but they didn't object when Tifa shoved lanterns into their hands. She needed all the light she could get, after all. Besides, Cid still felt too weird to acknowledge the freaky seeing in the dark thing. Hefting a lantern up like a regular guy as they descended the stairs into total darkness gave him a vague sense of normalcy.

Cloud led the way, not bothering in the slightest with the safety rail. Cid stayed in the middle, going a little slower, tapping his spear on the steps like a sighting stick. Tifa hung back in the rear, clinging to the railing hard enough to bend the metal while she strained to see by the limited light cast by the lanterns.

Countless steps later, Tifa wheezed, "This is _worse_ than ShinRa headquarters and I hate you both."

Cid groaned, "Kinda hate me too, Tifa."

He didn't feel _physically_ tired, but the further down they got, the worse the pressure got and the more his mind began to play tricks on him. Strange shapes skittered at the edges of his vision.

Cloud stopped several steps ahead and did a couple of squats, the cheeky bastard. "Do you need a break?"

As one, Tifa and Cid shouted, "No!" Their voices echoed off the walls eerily, followed by Cloud's quiet laughter.

They resumed their descent. Not five minutes later, Tifa grumbled, "I don't believe for a second anyone really makes this climb for a _makeout spot_."

Cloud slowed to a stop, and Cid almost ran into him. "Hey, watch it!!"

The shorter blond shrugged, holding his lantern out towards the wall. From the floor all the way up, past the fuzzy edges of light, the concrete was covered in spray painted designs.

Tifa made a soft, "Huh," noise.

Cid brought his own lantern closer, admiring the color and jumble of designs. Even the dumb scribbles proclaiming things like, _J+S 4eva_ had their own sort of charm. He thought about Vincent passing these declarations of love, a lump forming in the back of his throat.

"Fuckin' dumbass kids," Cid declared, voice rough, and shoved at Cloud with his elbow to get things moving again.

They made it to the bottom after what felt like hours. The hatch stood ajar, revealing the wide, circular room on the other side. The floor was all rusty grates, some of them sunk in or outright broken. In the case of an emergency, the room was supposed to seal off and drain flood water back out into the ocean before it impacted the elevator. No point in it anymore, if no one was supposed to be down there.

The next hatch was closed, but the rust on the valve and along the edges had recently been knocked away. Cid approached it and set his lantern down by his feet. Several deep scratches marked the door.

"Listen, Iunno what to expect," he said. "I'd like it best if ya two waited here."

"I don't mind." Without looking back, Cid knew Cloud shrugged, equal parts indifference and exasperation.

"Well, I do," Tifa said, but before Cid could tense up and start arguing, she added, "so you have fifteen minutes."

Cid spun on his heel, pressing his back to the hatch. He could feel the valve digging into his spine but didn't move. What he thought of was the deep gouges on the inside of the _First_. Then he recalled the cave hidden behind a waterfall, containing the crystallized remains of the only other person Vincent ever loved.

"...And if he's there, but I need more'n fifteen to make shit right?"

"Get a safe word," Cloud suggested.

Both Cid and Tifa stared at him long enough that he began to shift from one foot to the other. He didn't take back his suggestion, though.

Tifa smacked him on the arm. "You've been hanging out with Reno too much!"

"Whatever, I don't fuckin' wanna know." Cid pushed off from the door, spun back to it, and began turning the valve. "Chocobo. Don't fuckin' come in if I say that."

"What about if you need us sooner?" Tifa asked.

Cid snorted. The whole damn trip, from Edge to the WRO base to Junon, he craved a cigarette like nothing else. The desire rolled over him, sharp and needy, and his grip tightened on the valve until it passed. In the aftermath, he felt years older, shoulders shaking with tension.

"Then I'll fuckin' shout 'help,' won't I?"

He yanked the hatch open just wide enough for him to squeeze through. On the other side, he crouched and reached back through to grab his lantern. Then he pulled the door shut, metal cylinders clanging and echoing with finality as they slid back into place.

The room he stood in was a small ten by four tunnel, one more safety measure that was moot. He walked on to the next hatch and let himself through. For his own safety, he left it slightly ajar behind him.

On the other side, curving glass walls were all that kept the entirety of the ocean at bay. Water dripped from a few loose rivets, forming alarming pools that he had to splash through as he walked. Occasionally, the dark shapes of fish drifted by, not the least bit reassuring. Dim emergency lights shone at ankle level on either side, doing little to illuminate the massive tunnel.

All along the glass on the left, five thin trails of scratches wobbled down the tunnel. Cid followed the marks cautiously, only straying away when a scratch went too deep, letting in a thin spray of water.

About a hundred or so feet in, the scratches trailed down and stopped. At their end, a heap of red cloth puddled, wrapped tight around a shaking, sickly looking man with dark circles under his glassy eyes.

"Vincent," Cid breathed.

"Go away, Cid, you're _dead_." Vincent gazed listlessly straight ahead. "She wouldn't give you back, not to _me_."

“Like hell.”

Cid crouched and put his spear and lantern aside. When Vincent squinted against the light spilling on his face, Cid hurried to turn it off. Then he scooted over and sat next to the other man, back to the cold glass. Their shoulders were almost close enough to touch, but instinct told him not to be the one to bridge the gap.

“I’m here, Vince. If ya don’t believe, you’ll just have to check for yourself.”

“I would rather not be disappointed.” Vincent curled in on himself, tucking his face into his mantle until nothing but the faintest glimmer of red eyes could be seen beneath his hair. “This is... one of the kinder nightmares, thus far.”

Cid pressed his fists tight against his thighs to resist the urge to touch. “Don’t make me kick yer ass, Valentine.”

“I would deserve it, for failing you.”

“How’n the hell do ya figure ya _failed_ me?”

“I did not catch you. Your body was lost to the lifestream. One day, you will remember the sky and forget me, as it should be.”

Cid rolled to his knees and over, so that his hands landed on either side of Vincent. Still, he didn’t touch, not even the trailing tattered ends of the cloak, so tantalizingly close to his fingers. He met and held Vincent’s gaze, even if he felt self-conscious about the fact that his own eyes were probably glowing in the dark. Vincent looked away first.

“I couldn’t remember your name, but you were a constant in my memories.” Cid hung his head, glaring at his hands. “Like a guidin’ star. Ain’t no way I can look at the sky and _not_ remember ya, starshine.”

When he raised his eyes, but not his head, he found Vincent watching him.

“This _must_ be a dream. You’re never this eloquent.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you.” Cid huffed. “Gimme yer damn hand, ya conceited bastard. I’m no figment. Ya ain’t that imaginative.”

Perhaps Vincent really did think it a dream because he dropped his cloak aside and extended both hands, gloved and metal alike. Cid sat up on his knees and peeled his own gloves off quickly, shoving them into his back pocket. Then he took the gauntlet and placed it so that the back touched his cheek, relishing the touch of cool metal. Next, he stripped the glove off Vincent’s flesh hand and dragged it to his heartbeat.

The minute he did, Vincent’s eyes widened. He shifted until he was fully upright, pushing his hand more firmly against Cid’s chest. The glint of silver hanging around his neck was a gratifying sight. The dog tags survived the fall and they looked good on Vincent.

“I- This is a dream.”

“No. I’m goddamn real. Ya want me to start singin’ at ya?”

“...Maybe.”

Chuckling, Cid grabbed Vincent’s arms and pulled him into a tight embrace. The taller man slouched, burying his face in Cid’s shoulder, clutching desperately at the shirt over Cid’s heartbeat. The metal limb curled around Cid’s lower back, holding him in place. They clung to each other in that long, dark, oppressive hallway, each listening to the thundering of the other’s heart.

After a while, Cid hummed against Vincent’s temple. He couldn’t remember the song’s words, only that it was soft, nostalgic, and full of deep affection.

“What, no stupid phone song?” Vincent deadpanned.

Cid barked a laugh. Impulse made him start chanting, “Eight six seven fi—“

“No.” Vincent shoved his hand over Cid’s mouth. And didn’t flinch when Cid licked his palm. “I haven’t washed my hand in a long time, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Cid shrugged, giving a muffled, “Don’t care,” in reply.

“Cid?!” Tifa’s voice echoed eerily down the hall. “Are you okay?”

At this, Vincent _did_ flinch, claws spasming against Cid’s back. The sound of cloth tearing marked the end of another shirt. Cid hissed at the hot scrape against his skin, flushing because it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

Vincent jerked back, starting to untangle himself, kicking at the cement floor to get away. Cid didn’t let him go, putting a hand against Vincent’s cheek, swiping his thumb under one too wide eye.

“Shit. Shh, shh.” He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s just Tifa.”

Then Cid felt it, the full trembling ripple of flesh. Vincent hissed, baring teeth that were already getting too long. His pupils narrowed to slits as he spasmed, head snapping back. Dark purple tendrils of energy coiled up from the ground, twining around his limbs, yanking muscles and bones to rearrange them with horrific tearing and snapping sounds.

“ _Fuck_!” Keeping one arm around Vincent’s waist, holding him as still as possible, Cid twisted around to shout. “Chocobo! Get the fuck outta here!”

Vincent’s skin sloughed away, revealing dark purple beneath. A canine-like muzzle tore its way out of his mouth, teeth snapping at the air. Wickedly sharp black horns jutted out, making Cid duck to avoid them. A long, bristly red mane fell down the monster’s back, replacing the signature cloak. A huge, muscular tail lashed about behind, smacking against the glass to leave a trail of spiderwebbed cracks.

The beast began to growl, claws scrabbling on the cement. It grew and grew until it was twice the size of Cid and could easily throw him off at any time.

Over the noise, Cid heard Tifa’s retreat back to the hatch. He knew she wouldn’t stay away, not when she shouted, “C’mon, Cid!!”

“ _Go_! Hold the damn door shut til I get there!”

When the transformation completed, the last waves of energy fading away, the Galian Beast let out an earsplitting howl that echoed down the tunnel. It lunged to its feet, shaking Cid off, and charged towards the exit.

Cid slid, rolled, and scrambled to his feet. He ran to his spear, grabbing it without slowing, and gave chase. The beast was much faster than him, but it had limited track. With a resounding whump and clang, it smashed into the hatch. Tifa shut it like she’d been told, thank fuck.

The beast snarled, backing up a step, and then raised both claws to bring them down in a heavy downward swing. The claws sparked, screeching, and left deep gouges in the metal. Again and again the beast bashed at the door, trying to tear it from its hinges.

“Vince!” Cid skidded to a stop several feet behind the beast, spear at the ready. “Wake the fuck up!”

The prey on the other side of the door was out of its reach. The beast stilled, then turned to face Cid. Nothing in its glowing red eyes indicated recognition. Nothing in the way it stalked forward, claws flexing and tail swaying, indicated anything but malice. Cid backed a step at a time, keeping his distance.

He thought it bitterly funny that the beast still wore his dog tags, the chain taut because of how much thicker its neck was compared to Vincent’s.

“Got my fuckin’ name on ya, asshole. Ain’t that mean ya mine?”

To the beast, the tags meant nothing at all. It dropped to all fours and charged, head lowered to gore him with horns. He leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack, but ended up smacking into the wall with his shoulder. The glass cracked from the impact. Water began spraying through cracks, soaking him.

He didn’t have time to worry about it as the beast spun and rushed at him again. Somehow, he managed to catch its snapping jaws with the shaft of the spear held diagonally. It shoved him roughly against the cracked glass, pulled back an inch, and then lunged again, smashing him against the glass. Over and over again, until not just thin sprays but whole gushing spurts of water poured in.

Shifting his spear to a one-handed grip with the lower half braced against his leg, Cid drew back and threw a punch at the beast’s snout. This only seemed to anger it further, making it growl and bite at the spear. The metal shaft had deep dents and was beginning to bend under all the pressure.

Cid renewed his efforts, raining punches on the beast’s nose and forehead. “Fuck!” Punch. “You!” Punch. “Wake!” Punch. “The fuck!” Punch. “Up!!”

A loud clang and clatter marked the hatch getting wrenched open and kicked across the hall. The thudding of boots racing across cement was the only warning Cid had to duck. Dual bursts of Blizzaga filled the air, sharp shards of ice shattering on impact against the beast’s back. The water froze, icicles crawling up Cid’s skin.

As the beast pulled away with a howl, Cid stumbled away from the now frozen hole in the glass, shuddering with numb cold. He stamped his boots, rubbing at his side, and tried not to fall over. His hands were shaking too much to be of any help as the beast lunged at Cloud and Tifa.

He needn’t worry anyway; Cloud slid between the beast and Tifa, bracing his giant sword to stop the charge. Tifa darted around the beast’s side while it struggled to try and overpower Cloud and threw a flurry of fast punches into its side, making it stagger. Cloud threw his weight forward, and the beast lost its balance, falling sideways.

It recovered fast, but by then, Tifa and Cloud raised their bangles, activating materia. A thick, foggy yellow glow fell over the beast, slowing its charge. It slumped forward, eyes drooping shut.

“Thank fuck,” Cid wheezed.


	17. for you to see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-detailed nudity and graphic descriptions of scarring ahead!

Whatever combination of magic and fucked up science allowed Vincent to transform usually allowed him some control over the state of his clothing. As the beast melted away to reveal the man, it became obvious just how little control Vincent had during the attack. All but his cloak were in ruined tatters.

Cid staggered over to yank the cloak over bare skin none of them had permission to see. Tifa covered her face, turning away. Cloud looked up and off to the side, arms folded and toe tapping.

None of them had spare clothing on hand, of course. Aside from healing materia, they didn’t have much in the way of first aid, either. On top of that, the ice stopping up the flood of water began to melt. They needed to get out before the tunnel really did become their tomb.

“Get my shit, I’ll carry Vincent.”

While Cid scooped Vincent up to carry him bridal style, Cloud grabbed the spear and Tifa retrieved the other lantern. They exited the tunnel, shutting whatever hatches still worked behind them. Because of the risk of falling, Cloud took up the rear, while Tifa led the way. The going was much slower, as Cid had to keep stopping to rest. Vincent was skinny, but not a lightweight.

“Been... eatin’ too many... damn strawberry candies.” Cid wheezed, leaning over the unconscious man.

“And cake,” Tifa put in.

Cloud snorted. “At least he doesn’t have a milkshake supplier anymore...”

“Oh, yeah, she always got him one after missions. Or pink milk!”

“Always worried about everyone.”

Cid listened to the other two reminiscing, never looking away from Vincent’s face. When he felt up to moving again, he straightened, cracking his back, and then gathered Vincent up.

“Let’s go. Get our asses some milkshakes when this asshole wakes up, yeah?”

“Okay!” and “Sure,” were the overlapping replies.

The rest of the climb went much the same. By the time they made it out of the elevator shaft, late afternoon sun started to give away to cooler twilight shadows. The WRO car awaited them.

“Looks like you were successful,” the male agent said, holding the back door open for them. “I’ll let the commissioner know.”

Once they piled into the back, the driver asked, “Shall we return to base?”

Cid, slouched awkwardly under Vincent, cut his hand through the air. “Nah, ain’t makin’ Vincent wake up in no damn barracks. Gimme an inn nearby. With baths. And the guy’s gonna need clothes.”

Shifting gears, the driver guided the car out into the street. “I know just the place, but I’m not much for clothing. You, Mulligan?” She glanced over at her partner, who shrugged.

“Cloud and I can get clothes,” Tifa volunteered.

“Yanno his sizes?”

“Yup. He forgot to get new stuff, so I helped.”

Cid smiled, grateful. “Sounds like Vince. Hafta get those offa ya later.”

Near the airport, half a dozen inns sprang up since Meteorfall. Their driver took them to one near the edge of the plate, boasting a fantastic view of the ocean and _“the best baths this side of the continent”_. The flickering neon sign out front named it Hotel Eagle, complete with a depiction of an eagle that flapped its wings.

Tifa and Cloud got out of the car first. She leaned down, arm braced against the top of the car, to tell Cid, “Wait here while we get the rooms.”

Nodding absently, Cid shifted Vincent over to lay him down in the vacated space, with his head propped on Cid’s thigh. He took extra care to keep the cloak in place, feeling distaste at the idea of strangers seeing anything. The WRO agents met his gaze in the rearview mirrors, then politely looked away. It was a quiet, awkward wait.

Cloud came back alone to help Cid get Vincent out of the car. He nodded silent thanks to the WRO agents, then led the way around the back of the hotel.

Cid tossed a quick, “Thanks!” over his shoulder before hurrying to catch up.

The hotel formed an L-shape with two levels of doors leading to rooms. Cloud and Cid passed the public pools and bath house on the way to the far end of the hotel, where Tifa waited for them outside room 110. She held the door open for Cid, watching as he settled Vincent on one of the double beds, but not coming inside herself. When he turned back towards her, she held the keycards out.

“Figured you might want to share with him.”

“Yeah, thanks, Tifa.” He took the cards and stuck them in a pocket.

“We’re gonna go shopping now.” Tifa thumbed at her bangle, popping out a yellow and a green materia. She held them between forefinger, middle finger, and ring finger as she presented them. “In case he won’t wake on his own... or you need to put him _back_ to sleep.

Cid nodded, grim, and accepted the orbs. They were cold in his hand. He noticed his spear leaning against the wall by the door, its slots mostly empty.

“I’ll be careful. See ya later.”

Then he was alone with an unconscious man and his uncomfortable thoughts. Cid slotted the materia into his spear and took it with him into the excessively large bathroom. He propped the weapon on the wall by the long counter with not one, but two sinks. Wall to wall mirrors above the counter showed him how haggard and _tired_ he looked.

But he lived and the man he was _pretty sure_ he loved was in the other room. Everything _would_ be okay.

Cid pulled his shirt off, wincing, and twisted around to see how bad the damage was. The scratches were faded red lines, barely noticeable next to the mass of bruises higher up his back. The beast really knocked him around a few good ones.

Adrenaline and concern for Vincent overrode his ability to notice the pain when they were climbing. With no immediate emergency to deal with, the deep, painful ache settled in, making it hard to breathe. He’d never get to sleep in that state.

Cid grasped his spear, activating borrowed Cure materia. The green light shimmered around him in a loose spiral, soothing away the ache. The bruises faded to a mottled yellow color, as if weeks old. The scratches vanished entirely.

Satisfied, he bent over the sink to wash his hands and face. The hot water felt so nice that he lingered at the sink longer than necessary, letting it run over his fingers while he inhaled the steam.

The shift of starchy blankets in the other room drew Cid’s attention. He hesitated over the reality that he might never have noticed it before he fell into the lifestream, staring at his odd eyes in the mirror. Then he snapped the water off, collected his spear, and stepped back into the bedroom.

Vincent wasn’t awake yet, but he’d moved, rolling onto his side. His brows furrowed, mouth drawn down. The cloak no longer perfectly covered him up. Cid went to the other bed, pulled the quilt off, and dropped his spear in its place. He draped the blanket over Vincent and sat next to him to rub his thumb between the scrunched up brows.

“Shh, shh, buttercup.” A half-forgotten tune came to mind; he found himself leaning down to hum. “Why do you build me up— build me up, buttercup, baby?”

Little by little, Vincent relaxed back into sleep. Cid stayed by his side, absently petting at hair that needed a washing and humming snatches of songs whenever the other man began to show signs of distress.

A little over an hour later, there came a knocking at the door. Cid reluctantly slid off the bed and went to answer it. As expected, Tifa and Cloud were on the other side, with bags and...

“Hey, pizza.” Cid grinned, holding the door open wider to let them in.

Tifa passed one of the bags over as she entered, allowing her to grasp the pizza boxes in both hands. “Got you a change of clothes.” She wandered over to the unoccupied bed, pausing for a moment to look down at Vincent. “He’s still sleeping?”

Cloud followed her in, dropping the other bags on the bed next to the spear. He nudged the weapon out of the way and took a seat, resting his forearms on his knees.

Peeking into the bag, Cid found a couple t-shirts, a pair of jeans, underwear, socks, and a denim jacket. He grabbed one of the shirts and set the bag on the wooden chair near the door.

“Yeah. Thought I’d see if he’d wake up naturally.”

Tifa nodded. All the noises they made caused Vincent to stir, eyelids fluttering, but he soon settled back down with a long, pained sigh that had his three friends holding their breaths as they watched.

Cid shrugged, a little uncomfortable, and gave the other two a meaningful look while he peeled the stickers and price tags off his new shirt. They all knew Vincent rarely, if ever, got genuinely restful sleep. They all knew what kind of hellish nightmare he must have descended into thinking Cid had died. No one was in any hurry to disturb him, especially not if his control over the beast was so fragile.

“Well, cold pizza isn’t the worst,” Tifa said, smiling.

Cloud picked up one of the bags, holding it aloft. “We brought beer and canned tea, too.”

“Dunno what the fuck I’d do without you two.” Cid yanked the shirt on. Knowing his hair probably stuck up every which way, he ran his hands through it in a vague attempt to tame it.

“Be shirtless, pizzaless, and drinkless, probably,” Tifa quipped, plopping onto the bed next to Cloud.

Cid went to join them, moving his spear to the floor, where it got nudged under the bed. They soon moved the bags of clothes out of the way too, spreading the pizza boxes and drinks between them as they got comfortable and dug into their greasy comfort food.

“Ya gonna stay in here with us?” Cid asked, between bites of his sixth slice.

Since Tifa had her mouth full and flopped her hand rapidly at Cloud, the other blond was the one to answer. “Got a room next door.” He glanced over at Vincent, then leveled a serious stare at Cid. “Try to keep the hollering to a minimum when he wakes up.”

Cid choked on his beer. Tifa muffled laughter into the back of one hand, smacking Cloud on the shoulder with the other. The red mark promised an impressive bruise later.

When his coughing fit passed, Cid spluttered, “The man’s had a rough fuckin’ month, like hell I’d-- I mean, give me a goddamn break, he probably needs a hell of a lot more rest!”

“Uh-huh.” Cloud smirked.

Tifa, smiling with a faint blush on her face, waved her pizza slice towards the far wall. “Anyway, we’ll be right over there. Kick the wall or something if you need us.”

“Thanks.” Cid cradled his beer in both hands, fingertips touching, and bowed his head. A thick lump formed in his throat, gratitude overwhelming his ability to properly express just how much all their help meant. “I--“

Cloud shoved at his knee, nodding sharply to the other bed. Red eyes were open, watching them from beneath the folds of the quilt. Cid sprang off the bed immediately, setting his beer bottle on the side table a little too hard. The noise made Vincent jump and pull the blanket up higher. 

Cid stopped short of the bed. “Shit, sorry.”

“Hey, Cid, we’re gonna take off, okay?” Tifa gathered up her leftover crusts, tossing them into the trash. “It’s good to see you, Vincent.”

“Feel better,” Cloud said, following Tifa’s lead like always.

Vincent shifted to watch them leave, then turned his gaze back on Cid. All silence and all wary caution. His fingers gripped the quilt tightly. Cid guessed having his clothes in such a disarray was uncomfortable as hell, but he would bet a sizable chunk of gil that guilt about the beast’s rampage was at the forefront.

“Ya alright?”

“...Not really.”

Cid nodded. Jerked his thumb towards the bed with the now abandoned pizzas and drinks. “Howsabout gettin’ clean and dressed, then havin’ some junk food?”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Nah.”

Vincent closed his eyes for several long minutes. Then he exhaled and sat up, keeping the quilt up around his neck. He looked between the bags of clothes on the floor and Cid.

“Ya want me to step out, give ya some space?”

“Anything but,” Vincent said, head bowed.

“Okay.”

Cautiously, Cid reached out, brushing his fingertips against Vincent’s cheek. When Vincent didn’t pull away and instead leaned into the touch, Cid smiled, moving closer. He bent down, pressing their foreheads together. His fingers trailed past Vincent’s jawline, settling against his pulse.

“Tell me what ya need, Vince.”

Vincent reached for him, curling his good hand behind Cid’s shoulder. Then he _pulled_ , with more strength than a skinny dude like him should have. The sudden pull caught Cid off-guard and he staggered, falling into the bed and over Vincent.

“Shit, warn a guy!”

Cid shifted around, getting his bony parts off of Vincent. The end result was that his knees settled on either side of Vincent’s cocoon of blankets. They stared at each other for a moment before Cid recognized the subtle tremor of panic making Vincent’s breath hitch. He rolled off, laying gingerly next to the other man with a hand’s breadth of space between them.

The silence and distance stretched out between them.

When Vincent moved several minutes later, it was to nudge at Cid, urging him to reposition. Though he wished Vincent would just _say_ what he wanted, Cid found that he didn’t mind being manhandled. He moved until he laid on his side with his back to Vincent.

“Okay?” Cid asked.

“Mhm.”

Then the quilt got flung over him and a too warm body pressed against his back. Vincent didn’t smell great but being made into the little spoon was a nice enough surprise that he huffed out a shaky laugh that turned into a gasp as Vincent brushed fingers up under his shirt.

“H-hey, Vince—?”

The hand stilled against his quivering belly. “Yes?”

“Uh. Not that I’m not interested, but what’re ya doin’?”

In the long silence and stillness that followed, Cid held his breath. He couldn’t formulate solid reasons as to why he felt nervous, but trusted his instincts in the place of memories.

“Nothing untoward,” Vincent finally answered. “I need a bath. Several baths. Just... let me have this.”

He pushed his hand up further, coming to rest against Cid’s heartbeat.

“Oh! Yeah, sure, I’m good with this.” Cid let out a shaky, relieved sigh.

The fact that he felt strongly for Vincent was the clearest point in his memories, but it lacked details. Like flying into the sunrise and not being able to see much because sunspots filled his vision. He didn’t know how far they’d gone or what was expected of him and he wasn’t eager to have those conversations so soon after Vincent waking up.

“I keep... thinking this isn’t real.” Vincent curled in, pressing his forehead against Cid’s back. “And-- though your heartbeat is reassuring, how long do I have before... my mind memorizes it perfectly? How long before it, too, is an illusion?”

“Do ya really think yer mind can come up with that much detail?”

“Yes. I spent years thinking Lucrecia was just there, out of sight and whispering...”

Cid frowned at the far wall. He covered the lump beneath his shirt with his hands, feeling out the smooth back of the hand, the bumpy ridge of knuckles, and finally tucking his fingertips between long fingers. The fabric of the shirt pulled taut between their hands, a flimsy barrier.

“...Then I’ll just have to keep surprisin’ ya.”

Vincent made a soft noise that was almost a laugh but mostly a forceful exhale. “If it were anyone else, I’d be doubtful.”

“Damn right.” Cid gave Vincent’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll drag yer ass outta more’n just leaky underwater tunnels.”

“I’m counting on you, Chief.”

Warm and sleepy, Cid dozed for a while. Vincent moved only to get more comfortable, arranging limbs to slow the inevitable pins-and-needles sensation.

It was full dark out when Vincent finally pulled away and sat up. Cid blinked, sluggishly twisting to peer towards the glowing green digital clock on the shelf by the tv, which read 2115. They’d laid around for almost three hours.

“Fuck. We’re cuddlers.”

“Is that a problem?” Vincent wondered, faintly amused.

Cid looked over, did a double-take, and jerked his gaze up past Vincent’s shoulder. The quilt pooled around Vincent’s hips, revealing the ragged remains of clothing that covered very little.

“No! But why ain’t we fuckin’ got ya into fresh clothes?! That can’t be comfortable!”

“Ah.” Vincent shrugged. “I didn’t... notice.”

Their eyes met. Cid swallowed, too aware of the heat climbing the back of his neck and flooding his cheeks.

“Shit,” he muttered, and sprang from the bed. “Ya wanna go take a bath?”

“That sounds like effort, Highwind.”

Something in the way Vincent said that sounded less than serious. Cid paused, frowning in Vincent’s general direction without looking. The quilt _still_ hadn’t been pulled up for decency’s sake. At that point, it became obvious that he was being teased.

Even as Cid hissed, “Asshole,” he grinned, relaxing.

Before awkwardness could get the better of him, Cid went to grab the bags of clothes. He dumped them out on the bed by Vincent’s feet. Black, black, and more black, but not all of it was tactical. Cid picked up a soft turtleneck, brows rising. The thin material had an iridescent sheen in the light, oily purples and greens flowing between his fingers.

“Huh. Bet Tifa don’t expect ya to actually _wear_ this.”

“Would it please you?”

Cid dropped the turtleneck like it burned him. “Uh.”

“To startle her,” Vincent clarified, sliding off the bed.

“S-sure, but, uh...” Rubbing at the back of his head, Cid wondered why it was so hard to say what he meant. He didn’t _think_ he’d ever had trouble spitting his opinions out. Only phrasing them nicely ever gave him trouble. “It’d be... nice to see ya in regular clothes, too. Like ya not expectin’ a firefight all the damn time.”

“Hm.” Vincent stepped close. “You haven’t looked at me this whole time.”

Cid coughed, shooting a glance downwards, but to the side so that he didn’t get an eyeful of anything. “I haven’t seen nothin’, have I? Before today.”

“No. Do you not remember?”

“Havin’ trouble keepin’ things straight, after gettin’ cooked in mako,” Cid admitted, reluctant.

“I see.”

The need to reassure Vincent of his value bloomed hot and anxious in Cid’s gut. He opened his mouth, but long fingers pressed over his lips stopped him. He gazed into red eyes, going tense and still.

“I have not trusted you as much as I ought,” Vincent said. “I... am not comfortable with my scars.”

Cid made an affirmative noise, not pulling away or trying to voice the “ _no shit,_ ” at the forefront of his mind.

A slow inhale. Eyes slid shut, then opened again, looking off to the side. Vincent stepped away, drawing his cloak around himself. “I want to be clean. And... I would like assistance, if you can bear looking at me.”

Cid caught the back of the cloak, and tugged until he had Vincent in his arms. Somehow, he found it easy to admit, “Pretty sure I ain’t wanted anything more’n you in years, starshine.”

This made Vincent suck in a ragged breath, eyes squeezed shut. He laid the back of the metal gauntlet against Cid’s cheek, the razor talons turned away. His other hand slid along Cid’s pulse, around his neck, and up into his hair, curling there. He bent to press their foreheads together.

“I will strive to be worthy of you, Cid Highwind.”

Leaving Vincent to pick out what he wanted to wear, Cid went to apply his engineering expertise to the complicated bath. Aside from the expected hot and cold knobs, the bath possessed the means to warm the sides and bubbles, which could be set to various patterns. Though amusing, Cid decided to leave both of those alone, filling the tub with water almost too hot to touch.

He was investigating the equally complicated shower when Vincent appeared in the doorway. The shower stall was big enough for at least two people, which said a lot about Hotel Eagle’s understanding of its patrons. The shower head hanging from the top was huge too, and accompanied by three smaller ones on each wall.

“Shit this place is fuckin’ _luxury_ ,” Cid told Vincent.

To demonstrate, he turned each shower head on, one at a time, and set them to different pressures and temperatures. The novelty drew Vincent over to tilt his head. He had a bundle of clothes over his metal arm, including the turtleneck, Cid was giddy to note.

“Is this all really necessary?”

Cid shrugged. “Prolly not, but I ain’t payin’ for it. Ya wanna shower first, then soak?”

“Alright.”

While Cid changed the shower settings until everything was more or less uniform and then turned it off until needed, Vincent went to deposit his things on the counter between the sinks. He shed his cloak, rolling it up, and set it further away, against the wall. His belts, holster, and gun went on top of it. The last thing he shed were his boots, which ended up with the heels to the cupboard doors beneath the counter.

“...Hey, didn’t… somethin’ happen to your cloak?” Cid frowned, rubbing at the spot between his brows, as he tried to remember.

“It was salvageable.”

“Huh.”

“There were clothes I assume were meant for you,” Vincent said. He looked at Cid in the mirror, not yet turning back to the shower.

“Yeah.”

Vincent inclined his head towards the door, his eyes narrowing with unspoken intent. At the same time, he retrieved one of the complimentary travel kits, tearing the plastic wrapping from a toothbrush. Cid’s blood rushed south so quick it made him dizzy, and he couldn’t tell if it was the look or the damn toothbrush that caused it.

Either way, he got the message and went to get a change of clothes for himself.

The clothes were laid out in neat piles. The stack of t-shirts, boxers, socks, and a pair of jeans definitely looked out of place next to Vincent’s wardrobe. Cid eyed it, wondering how Tifa and Cloud could _afford_ everything, and whether they expected he and Vincent to ever need that many clothes.

Then he noticed a pack of his favorite brand of cigarettes and a lighter next to his clothes. With a quiet laugh, he grabbed what he needed, plus the vice he probably didn’t, and returned to the bathroom to put everything on the counter so he could follow Vincent’s example and take care of his teeth.

His reward was getting crowded against the sink, caged in by metal and flesh arms. Cid twisted around, eyeing Vincent. He opened his mouth to ask what was up, but he realized that was a stupid question as soon as Vincent kissed him, licking into his mouth like spearmint was the best flavor. Cid hummed and kissed back for all he was worth, feeling like he’d gone too long without.

Vincent released him, watching him gasp for air. Cid grinned, crooked and goofy and not caring a bit.

“Didn’t even have to bribe ya with a cigarette.”

“Ha. No.” Vincent tipped his head to the right. “Might take one when you ply me with junk food later.”

“Hell yeah! Haven’t had one since the dunk. I’m goddamn _dying_.”

Vincent eyed him up and down. “Is there a reason you’ve denied yourself?”

With a blink, mouth hanging open, Cid gestured between them. He’d thought it obvious. Vincent blinked back. And then squinted his eyes until only a sliver of red could be seen beneath thick lashes.

“I shouldn’t find this as charming as I do.”

“I’m the _most_ fuckin’ charmin', thanks.”

Vincent leaned forward, like he was going to kiss Cid again. Frustratingly, he stopped just short, breath mingling with Cid’s. “The tub is going to overflow.”

“Oh, shit!”

Vincent sidestepped, allowing Cid to hurry over to the tub. The water hadn’t yet reached the lip of the tub, but the addition of even one grown man, nevermind two, would surely make it slosh over. Cid snapped the water off and flicked the drain switch, bringing the water level back down to a manageable level. Then he turned the warmer on, since he had no idea how long the shower would take.

“Help me get undressed,” Vincent said, very close to Cid’s ear.

He jumped, tried to brace himself on the side of the tub, and slipped. Strong arms wrapped around his middle, preventing him from falling face first into the tub. Even so, his hands hit the water, splashing it up to his elbows and getting it down his front.

“Shit—“

“Warn a guy, I know.”

Cid wheezed, slapping a hand over his heart dramatically, and slouched back against Vincent. “Gonna be the goddamn end of me, Vince.”

After placing an apologetic kiss against Cid’s temple, Vincent pulled back, leaving Cid standing upright. Cid turned around, tugging at the hem of his wet shirt. It didn’t bother him to take it off, but Vincent watching made him all too aware of his bare skin.

Vincent held his metal arm out, palm up. Vaguely recognizing the posture as something other than an offer of a hug, Cid stepped close to undo the buttons on what remained of Vincent’s shirt. He hesitated, then grabbed the tattered sleeve to pull it up and over the prosthetic. But things were different now, he didn’t have to stop there. He worked the other sleeve off, too, and then pulled the whole shirt over Vincent’s head. The dog tags jangled as they fell back down.

Cid didn’t look yet, and Vincent didn’t look at him. They stood there, bare chests almost touching, and tried to keep their breathing even.

“Not uh, very sexy to have a panic attack for lookin’ at yer...” Cid made a vague gesture, indicating the pair of them. “What the hell are we?”

Vincent lowered his gaze from a very intent study of the ventilation fan above them. “Lovers? Partners? Best friends with benefits?”

“Fuck, those are all stupid. _I’m_ bein’ stupid.” Cid met Vincent’s gaze, squared his shoulders, and looked down, following the line of silver chain.

From the neck down, Vincent’s skin went even paler than his face, which Cid hadn’t known was possible. The intricate lines of blue veins stood out starkly, as though Vincent’s skin were not just white as porcelain, but semi transparent. Cid couldn’t control the impulse to trace his thumb along one running from collarbone to ribs on the left side. Vincent inhaled, a slight shiver shaking his body, and watched Cid with wary want.

His skin was not perfect. Cid felt dozens of lines of scar tissue, each one healed almost to the point of invisibility. It was as though Vincent had survived an encounter with a blender. Maybe he had, given how fucked up Hojo was.

Besides the smaller scars, larger and more horrible ones existed. Over Vincent’s heart was an ugly purplish knot that looked like a crater, the tags nestled against it. When Cid’s fingers skirted the edges, Vincent closed his eyes and turned his head away. Cid left it alone, bringing his hand up to Vincent’s pulse until the other man relaxed and looked at him again.

Then there were a couple of fairly ordinary-looking wounds— a thin diagonal line near his hip, a small pockmark edged in gunpowder near the big chest scar, an old surgery scar on his abdomen.

And last, the remaining flesh of Vincent’s left arm was a mess. Metal embedded below the elbow explained Vincent’s ability to maneuver the prosthetic as though it were a natural part of him, but it looked awful and thoughtlessly grafted on. The flesh from the gauntlet to halfway up the arm was shiny and twisted, like burn tissue. Needle marks scored the inside of the arm, and from each, black veins spiderwebbed out. As Cid tried to process just how much torture Vincent had gone through, Vincent slowly flexed his claws, looking ready to flee at any moment.

“Hey,” Cid croaked. He grit his teeth as he met Vincent’s gaze. “I’d sure like to fuck that rat bastard scientist up all over again.”

“I’d prefer he didn’t come back _again_.” Vincent’s voice was soft and tired.

“Guess I’ll just have to daydream ‘bout givin’ him what he deserves.”

“Hmm.”

Cid dragged Vincent into a rough hug, squeezing tight. “I’m so damn glad yer here.” He swallowed, nervous because Vincent hadn’t moved to return the hug. “And... thanks. For trustin’ me to see ya. I know it ain’t easy.”

Vincent relaxed in his grip. As though afraid he might break, he wrapped his arms very carefully around Cid, the metal claws turned away.

“I won’t ask you to look at these unsightly things again, if--“

“Cut it out.”

Vincent stilled, then pulled back as much as he could with Cid clinging so fiercely. His brows went up at the glower Cid shot at him.

“I want ya,” Cid insisted. “All of ya. As much as yer comfortable givin’.”

“Oh.” Vincent swallowed and averted his gaze. “I... As you wish.”

“Yeah, so, there’s a shower waitin’.” Cid grinned, more confident than he felt, and snagged Vincent’s belt loops. He gave a slight tug of warning before undoing the fly.

The removal of pants and underwear was fast. Vincent braced his hand against Cid’s shoulder as he bent to pull them down past knees. Vincent stepped out of them, and then he was naked. Cid stood back up to admire the view. Vincent’s legs had as much scar tissue as the rest of him, but the really visible scars seemed pretty normal for a lifetime of fighting.

“Okay, my turn,” Cid declared, and shucked his jeans, boxers, and socks, kicking them aside.

It took a lot of effort to stand there and not cover himself up under Vincent’s gaze. Fair was fair, after all.

Dragging Vincent down to kiss him took less effort. As did nudging him back, one step at a time, into the shower stall.


	18. nsfw - whispers you sing me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings -- bath time, frottage, hand jobs, biting, scratching, blood, aftercare.
> 
> If you wanna skip the filth but think you can handle the aftercare and sappy junk that follows, you can ctrl+f for †.

Cid pushed Vincent against the wall in one corner, out of the spray radius. Then he turned the shower on, holding his hand out behind him to feel when the water went from too cold to just right. Vincent decided then would be a good time for more kissing, distracting Cid from the whole point of the shower. By the time he let Cid go, the stall’s glass was fogged over from steam. The air and certain body parts were thick and hot.

“Thought we were gettin’ clean, Vince.”

Vincent made a soft “hah,” noise, and pushed at Cid’s chest until they were actually under the spray of water. “Better?”

“Usually soap involved,” Cid said, but nonetheless pulled Vincent close.

Their height difference meant Cid couldn’t line their hips up perfectly, but from the sharp exhale Vincent made when he nudged his erection against Vincent’s balls, grinding up against the base of his cock, it didn’t particularly matter.

Curling one hand into the hair at the base of Vincent’s neck, he tugged until they were kissing again, sloppy and wet. He took Vincent’s cock in the other, loosely stroking the side opposite of his grinding. The pace was nowhere near enough for climax, but the pleasure washed over him, making him moan around Vincent’s tongue.

Apparently unsatisfied with the angle, Vincent hooked his left arm around Cid’s waist and his right hand under Cid’s leg, lifting and turning them until Cid’s back hit the wall. He grunted, throwing his arms around Vincent’s neck to keep from falling. Vincent shifted, lifting and rearranging until Cid’s legs were around his waist and their erections pressed flush together.

“Ah hell,” Cid gasped, and anything else he might have said was muffled by Vincent’s mouth.

Because Vincent’s arms were occupied with keeping Cid up and steady, he couldn’t freely touch either of them. Cid reached between them, using both hands to grasp their erections. He started out slow, stroking and squeezing and running his thumbs over the slits.

“Faster,” Vincent demanded, catching Cid’s lip between his teeth.

At the pop of his lip being released, Cid groaned, tightening his grip. He picked up the pace, jerking them off properly. Vincent nosed at Cid’s jaw, panting, and worked his way down the side of his neck with bruising sucks and nips that made Cid shudder and buck.

He couldn’t last long, not with teeth scraping against his pulse, not when Vincent made a soft, keening noise, not when fingers and talons dragged across the underside of his thighs, one bruising and the other a hot trail of sparks.

“Fuuuck,” Cid thumped his head against the tiles, arching as he came.

Vincent bit his shoulder, reminding him to keep stroking. Cid couldn’t help but groan, over sensitive to every touch in the afterglow. Just as he thought it might be too much all at once, Vincent shuddered, spilling over his fists.

They slumped against the wall, panting. Eventually Vincent eased Cid down onto his own two feet, licking at the bloodied mark he’d left at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Cid clung to Vincent until his legs didn’t feel quite like jelly, and then pushed him away so they could stand properly under the water to rinse away cum and, in his case, blood.

†

Vincent stared down at the swirl of red. He touched the inside of Cid’s leg, not quite reaching around to the gashes on the back.

“...Sorry.”

“Nah-uh.” Cid swatted the hand away. “Don’t get to say that if I had fun.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck yes.”

To prove his point, Cid pulled Vincent down for another kiss, slow and sweet. He trailed them over Vincent’s cheeks, and one last one against his forehead.

“If ya that worried, ya can give me tender lovin’ aftercare.”

Reaching past Vincent, Cid snagged one of the complimentary bars of soap and a wash rag. He tore the paper off the soap, flicking it aside. After getting both wet, he rubbed them together, working up a generous lather. Vincent plucked the rag from his hand and swiped it down his chest, trailing soap bubbles. The metal hand came up, fingers a loose cage. Cid dropped the soap into it, surrendering to Vincent’s ministrations.

It felt nice, getting scrubbed over with firm, circular motions. Cid hummed, relaxing. Vincent was thorough, working his way down; he knelt without hesitation to wash Cid’s legs. Had Cid been a younger man, the warm look Vincent gave him while soaping the insides of his thighs might have been his cue for round two.

“Oh, _hell_ , starshine,” Cid wheezed, pushing long wet hair away from Vincent’s face.

Vincent caught his wrist, pressing a kiss against his palm. Then he was released. “Turn around.”

Swallowing, Cid did as he was told, bracing his hands against the wall. He tried not to feel self-conscious, but a gorgeous man kneeling behind him was overwhelming. The hot water running down the backs of his legs made him hiss, stinging the scratches anew. Vincent tsked, touching the tender skin nearby.

“This is going to need tending.”

“Ehh—“

Before Cid could fully formulate a protest, Vincent stood and stepped out of the shower. The open door let cold air in, making Cid’s skin prickle up with goosebumps. He looked over his shoulder, watching through the fogged glass as Vincent went to the counter for his gun. As weird as Vincent could be, he did not bring the gun to the shower, just the green Cure materia, which he pushed into Cid’s hand as he pulled the shower door shut behind him.

“Heal yourself,” Vincent ordered, “Or I will and you can nap while I finish.”

“Pull my damn arm, why don’t ya.”

Curling his fist around the orb, Cid activated the weakest form of the spell he could. The scratches and the bite on his neck closed, but remained tender and pink. Vincent leaned close, puffing a breath out over the faded hickey, making Cid shiver.

“...Do you enjoy being marked, Chief?”

“Might.”

“You _do_ keep surprising me.” Vincent licked the mark, blew another breath over it, then pulled away.

“Damn tease...”

“Mhm.”

The slap of the soaped up rag against his backside made Cid jump. If not for the wall on one side and Vincent’s body on the other, he might have slipped. With a huff, he elbowed the other man, no more than a light nudge. Vincent snorted, unmoved, and scrubbed Cid’s back. He worked quicker than he had for Cid’s front, but no less thoroughly.

“You’ll have to wash your hair, I’m... starting to feel fatigued.”

“S’okay.”

Cid turned around, propped the materia on the soap shelf, and took the soap and rag from Vincent. He set to returning the favor with care. Instead of messing with the really obvious scar tissue, he wrung soapy suds out above them and let gravity and the flow of water do the work. Vincent squinted his eyes shut, relaxed and pliable.

With a nudge against Vincent’s side, Cid urged him to turn around. He pushed long, wet hair out of the way and paused, considering. Two thick, jagged scars ran down in curved lines from shoulder to lower back. The skin looked mottled and raw, as though fresh. Cid could guess the cause— Chaos’s transformations _had_ been the worst, even more horrible to watch than the beast’s, and it was largely due to the massive wings that gored Vincent’s back every time.

“Cid…”

“Sorry, was just thinkin’ it’s lucky ya ain’t gotta deal with Chaos anymore.”

Vincent dipped his head forward and said nothing. He held still as Cid washed the skin along his spine, then let soap run down the scars.

Once finished scrubbing Vincent’s skin, Cid grabbed the shampoo and poured a generous amount into his hands.

“Ya wanna sit?”

Vincent opened one eye, shrugged, and lowered himself so that he sat with his back to Cid. Bending so that he sheltered Vincent from the spray, Cid worked his fingers into long black hair. Longer than strictly necessary, he kneaded at the scalp. He chuckled at the pleased sighs Vincent kept making.

“Okay, gonna rinse,” Cid warned.

He stuck his hand out into the water, rinsing off the shampoo. Then he cupped his left hand over Vincent’s forehead to protect his eyes from runoff and leaned out of the way of the spray. Using his right hand, he ran his fingers through soapy hair to ensure a complete rinse.

“Uh, anything else I gotta do for long hair?”

“Conditioner, probably.”

“Right.”

Cid shampooed and rinsed his own hair, glad that it was a fast, no nonsense affair. He returned the shampoo bottle to the shelf and picked up the conditioner. The instructions on the back said to let it soak for at least five minutes.

“...Ya wanna move to the tub while this shit sets?”

“Alright.”

Cid shut the shower off, then worked a generous amount of conditioner into Vincent’s hair. It was weird and slimy, like lotion. Vincent must have noticed the face Cid made, because he snorted.

“Problem, Highwind?”

“This shit’s bizarre.”

“Long hair comes at a price, after all...”

“Ya ever think about cuttin’ it?”

“I had short hair when I was younger,” Vincent admitted. He stood and left the shower, apparently done with that conversation.

Cid shrugged, turning one of the smaller shower heads on long enough to rinse the excess conditioner off his fingers. Not trusting that they wouldn’t forget it, he grabbed the materia and took it out to set it in one of the sinks. When he turned to the tub, Vincent was already up to his shoulders, metal arm laid out along the lip of the tub, shiny hair draped down the side. Cid stepped carefully through the puddles they’d left everywhere so he could join Vincent.

One red eye cracked open as Cid shifted closer until they sat hip to hip. It slid closed again once Cid slumped down with a satisfied sigh, soaking up the warmth.

“Thanks, Chief.”

“Sure, starshine.”

Drowsy happiness stole over Cid. He leaned against Vincent’s side, cheek resting against his shoulder, and let his mind wander through jumbled memories. In that moment, he did not fear unpleasant surprises or not knowing something he should.

Everything was better than fine.


	19. bring me home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings -- shotgunning and aborted fooling around.

After bathing and dressing, Vincent sat on one of the beds with a towel draped over his shoulders. He sat slightly forward, cradling a can of strawberry tea between his legs and a plate of reheated pepperoni and jalapeño pizza in his hands. His hair, still wet, had been gently combed out, but otherwise left alone to dry naturally.

Cid sprawled out next to him with a pillow between them and his own can of tea on his belly. The overstimulation of bathing left Vincent a little glassy eyed and jumpy, but he hadn’t wanted Cid to go away. A flimsy barrier packed with feathers was the compromise and Cid was happy to go along with it. An ashtray perched precariously on top of the pillow, two stubbed out butts in it already.

Some old black and white movie played on the tv, something about a woman who fell in love with a spooky stranger that lived in a castle. Not wanting to disturb Vincent or their neighbors, Cid turned the volume off and the captions on. At present, they read _(music)_ , which had to be one of the least useful descriptions. Knowing the _mood_ of the music would’ve been nice, but judging by the way the woman crept down a dark hallway, her eyes wide with fright, the music was probably not polka.

“She’s going to die,” Vincent muttered. He nibbled at his pizza half-heartedly.

“Nah, it could turn out.”

“How. She’s in a creepy mansion, at night, and there’s a man who is probably undead watching her fumble around in the dark.”

“I dunno, it worked out for me.” Cid grinned.

Vincent stared at him. Then, with deliberate slowness, he picked up his tea and took a long swig, never breaking eye contact with Cid. The whole time, Cid’s grin grew wider, until it felt like his cheeks might split from the effort of containing his mirth and _not_ busting up laughing.

“I,” Vincent said, lowering his tea, “am not one of the undead.” He eyed Cid critically. “Last I checked, you don’t identify as a woman, either.”

“Hell naw, I’d look like _shit_ in a dress.” Cid waved his hand above his head, dismissive. “Little jealous of them that can pull it off.”

Vincent fell silent for several minutes, resting the can against his knee. He had a far off, speculative look, which meant he probably wasn’t paying any attention to the movie. Cid let him be.

The woman on the screen began to scream as her spooky suitor cornered her. Another monster loomed up behind, and she was thrust out of the way as an over dramatic battle began. The choreography felt too obviously fake, the furniture exploded at the slightest touch, and the fake walls looked better suited to a Gold Saucer play. Cid cackled at the melodramatic expressions the actors made.

The noise startled Vincent, making him snap his head up.

“Sorry.” Cid covered his mouth with one hand, trying to smother his laughter. He waved towards the tv with the other.

Vincent looked up at the tv, blinked a few times, then shook his head. He set his drink and food on the bedside table, and gathered his hair up in the towel to pat it dry.

“I’ve never seen you in anything but work clothes.”

“Huh?” Cid grabbed his can of tea, lifting it off his stomach, and rolled over onto his side. “Nah, no point if I’m just gonna ruin ‘em with oil.” He plucked at the collar of his shirt. “Or blood an’ whatever.”

“Hmm. We’re not so different, then.” Unwinding the towel from his hair, Vincent dropped it on the floor.

“Hey, hey, I wear different colors!”

With a sidelong look, Vincent plucked at the turtleneck he wore. Even in the low, flickering light of the television, the colors shimmered and shifted.

“That’s still black,” Cid insisted.

“If you say so.”

“Alright, asshole, I’ll wear fancy duds of yer choosin’ if you’ll wear any color but black.” Cid shook his can at Vincent, the tea sloshing inside. “Or red.”

Vincent tilted his head. “Hmm.” Then he shrugged a shoulder, wriggling downwards on the mattress to lay down, carefully draping his hair out of the way. “Alright. I’m going to sleep now, though, so your dress up fantasies will have to wait.”

“ _My_ dress up fantasies--?!”

“Go to sleep, Cid.”

Huffing, Cid put his tea and the ashtray on the floor, grabbed the tv remote to turn it off, and squirmed his way under the blankets. “Make ya wear pastels,” he grumbled. “Ruin yer gloom an’ doom look _real_ fuckin’ quick.”

Vincent reached out over the pillow barrier, laying his hand against Cid’s neck. “Shhh.” He didn’t pull away even after Cid shushed, nor after they both drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, Vincent passed the comb and brush over to Cid. Awed, Cid accepted them automatically, and watched with dumb fascination as Vincent sat on the edge of one of the beds.

“Ya sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I weren’t.”

“Don’t really know what the hell I’m doin’ so smack me if I yank too hard.”

Cid kneeled on the bed next to Vincent, then scooted around behind him. Even sitting down, Vincent was taller, so Cid stayed on his knees. He looked between the comb and brush, uncertain.

“Start with the comb,” Vincent suggested, as though he had eyes on the back of his head.

“Rocket science has got nothin’ on goddamn hair care.”

Putting the brush down, Cid raised the comb and got started. He went slow and careful, and at Vincent’s instruction, he held the hair above tangles to reduce the chances of pulling at the roots. Not that Vincent seemed to mind Cid’s inexperience or rough handling; he didn’t complain once. All Cid could think about was the certainty that if he pulled, Vincent wouldn’t react negatively. He puzzled over what made him so sure.

When the last of the tangles were gone, Vincent looked over his shoulder. “Now would be the time for the brush, if either of us cared for the effort.”

“I don’t mind doin’ it.” Cid shrugged, tapping the comb against his thigh. “Hey but, question.”

“Hmm?”

“Have ya ever put yer hair up? Like in a tail or whatever?”

“Marlene has braided it,” Vincent pointed out. “I haven’t done anything with it myself, no. Why?”

“Might look nice, and, uh...”

Unable to voice the thoughts all jumbled up in his head, he decided to demonstrate. Cid gathered all of Vincent’s hair up into one hand, holding it near the back of his skull. After waiting a moment to see if Vincent had any protests, Cid gave a firm tug.

The reaction was and wasn’t what he expected. Vincent exhaled a sharp, “ _Oh_ ,” letting his head drop back until it rested against Cid’s chest.

“Okay, good lookin’?” Cid asked, voice thick.

“Mhm.” Twisting around, Vincent pulled loose of the hold on his hair. He braced his hands on the mattress on either side of Cid’s knees, staring at him.

The dog tags swung between them as Vincent leaned forward. At some point, Cid was going to need to ask for them back. Not right then, though. He stared at Vincent’s mouth and thought of very little past want.

A knocking at the door interrupted whatever might follow. Vincent slid off the bed and retreated to the window across the room, where he stood with his arms folded and his back to the room at large.

With a low curse, Cid got up to answer the door. Tifa brandished brown bags spotted with grease on the other side. Cloud held a cardboard cup holder with four disposable coffee cups. Mollified by the offering of food, Cid pushed the door open wide and went back into the room to grab his jeans off the floor. He yanked them on while Tifa and Cloud came in to deposit breakfast on the little wooden table near the window.

“Hello, Vincent, how are you feeling this morning?” Tifa asked. “The clothes were okay, right?”

“Tifa. They’re acceptable.” Vincent turned from the window. “Cloud.”

“Hey, Vincent.”

While Cloud handed out coffees, Cid investigated the food. At the top of one bag, several fistfuls of thin brown paper towels and packets of ketchup and hot sauce obscured the food. A big styrofoam box contained hash brown patties. In the other bag, there were four foil-wrapped breakfast burritos, each labeled with different ingredients. Tifa knew them all so well. Cid claimed his favorite bacon and sausage and passed Vincent the chorizo and peppers.

With coffee in one hand and burrito in the other, Cid went to sit on one of the beds. Tifa snagged him by the shirt collar, pulling it away from his body.

“Guess I don’t need to worry if _you’re_ okay, Captain.” She raised her brows as she studied Cid’s love bite.

“Woah,” Cloud said, around a mouthful of hash brown. “Get mauled, Cid?”

“Uh.”

Vincent studied Cid from a safe distance, peeling the foil away from his burrito. He took a bite and chewed slowly, staying out of the interrogation. His amusement was palpable.

“Ain’t ya got anything better to do than pryin’ into my goddamn business?” Cid grumbled.

“Oh, sure, but it’s not as fun.” Tifa beamed, releasing his shirt before she stretched the collar out. “Reeve called this morning.” She looked to Vincent as she took a seat at the table. “He’s really happy you’re okay. Said to text him soon.”

With a showy wave of his claw, Vincent indicated his lack of belongings. Neither cloak nor gun were on his person that early in the morning, and it was a sure bet he’d lost his phone somewhere in the last four weeks. His ruined clothes were in the bottom of the trash bin in the bathroom.

Cid sat up straighter. “Shit, I gotta get a new phone.”

He took a fortifying gulp of coffee. It was going to be a pain in the ass setting everything back up, especially his ringtones. Not to mention, everybody and their dog would be expecting him to call and/or visit if they’d all thought he was dead, like Vincent did.

“We’ll visit Elena later,” Vincent said.

“Eugh, Shinra.” As sweet a girl as Elena was, she almost never left the former president’s side. Cid shook his head. “I’ll just buy my own.”

“With what money, Cid?” Cloud wondered. “Your wallet was lost in the lifestream…”

“Fuck.”

Tifa laughed. “Sorry, Captain, I think our sweet pea forgot you’d still need your credit cards.”

“Oh yeah, she a regular damn gil digger.” Cid rolled his eyes and took a vicious bite of his burrito. After he’d chewed and swallowed, he admitted, “I’d hafta go back to Rocket Town to get new cards… Fuck, I don’t wanna hafta scare the shit outta Shera in person. Rather call her ahead of time.”

“And give her time to plan for your _real_ death, at her hands?” Tifa smiled into her drink.

“She’ll tie him up to the prow of the _Shera_ ,” Cloud suggested. “For all the years of enduring his lady lucks and near deaths.”

Even Vincent smirked at this. Cid propped his drink between his legs and his burrito on his thigh just so he could flip them all off.

Laughing, Tifa kicked her legs out, giddy as a child. “I’m so happy you think so highly of us, Mr. Highwind!” She gestured with her drink towards the door. “Anyway, after breakfast, we’re supposed to get to the WRO base. I think Reeve wants to talk about your secret mission that you all totally should have told your friends about.”

“Especially if it concerns the planet,” Cloud added.

“Yes, mom.” Cid threw a mocking salute at Tifa, then eyed Cloud up and down. “I ain’t callin’ ya dad.”

Cloud choked on his coffee, face going dark. Tifa jumped up to clap him on the back even as she laughed at him.

Pleased with himself, Cid set to eating the rest of his breakfast with gusto. When he finished, he went into the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth.

Cloud left the room first, with a murmur of, “Gonna get our stuff.”

Vincent and Tifa had a brief exchange that Cid didn’t overhear, then she left too, with a, “Okay, I’ll be back!”

“Tifa is going to solve the dilemma of how we’ll carry around so many clothes,” Vincent said, leaning in the bathroom doorway.

“Right, sure.” Cid rinsed the sink out, then bent to pick up discarded, still damp clothes from the night before. “Must’ve really worried her, to get so damn spoiled.”

“And you weren’t worried?”

“Didn’t say that, Vince.”

The tilt of Vincent’s head probably indicated curiosity, but he didn’t voice any further questions. He walked over to the counter to brush his teeth, watching Cid with the mirror and a lot of squinty-eyed amusement. Cid gave himself a shake and left the bathroom to dump the dirties in one of the empty shopping bags.

After checking to make sure all of their belongings were piled up on one of the beds for ease of packing, Cid retrieved his cigarettes and ashtray. He sat at the little table and shook a cigarette and the lighter out of the pack. By the time Vincent came out of the bathroom with cloak and holster in place, Cid was halfway through his smoke.

And he wasn’t the least bit surprised when Vincent came over to steal it from him. Cid tipped his head back to watch Vincent take a drag. Holding the smoke in his mouth, Vincent perched on Cid’s thigh, planting his hands against the wall and the table to keep his balance.

“Hey,” Cid said, inanely, and then lips were on his, passing the smoke.

Memories of sunrise drifted in with the exchange, and Cid exhaled with relief. He cupped Vincent’s cheek and kissed him until Vincent pulled away for another lungful of smoke. They finished the cigarette that way.

As Vincent stubbed the butt out in the ashtray, Cid looped his arms around the taller man’s waist, loose. He slid his fingers up under the hem of the turtleneck, enjoying the novelty of easy access to skin. Vincent pulled down on it, eyes narrow. 

“I’ll behave,” Cid promised. As a show of good faith, he lowered his hands, and didn’t push any higher than the line of Vincent’s slacks.

Mollified, Vincent leaned back in. A knock at the door once again interrupted them. Vincent rolled his eyes and pressed a chaste kiss to Cid’s lips before disentangling himself.

“Maaan, ya an’ me, we gotta ditch these kids.”

Cid stood, tugging at the leg of his jeans just below the crotch to alleviate pressure on his junk and hopefully reduce the likelihood of anyone noticing anything.

“All the time in the world, Chief,” Vincent said. He went to answer the door.

Tifa pushed into the room, bouncing on her toes. “I got ‘em.” She tossed a couple duffle bags towards the bed. “Here, Cid, why don’t you pack?” Then she wagged a smaller plastic bag at Vincent. “Do you want help with this?”

Vincent flexed his claws, frowning down at the golden metal. “I... suppose so.”

“Oi, what’s--“ Cid never got to finish his question.

Tifa dragged Vincent into the bathroom and shut the door. She came out a minute later to grab the brush and comb, then she was gone again.

Scratching the back of his head, Cid sighed. Sometimes, keeping up with the younger members of AVALANCHE made him feel decades older than he was. He pushed up from the chair and set to work methodically laying outfits into neat stacks and rolling them up. He could have fit the whole lot into one bag but erred on the side of caution; maybe Vincent would want his things separate.

Another knock announced Cloud’s return. Cid let him in, shrugging at the curious looks the other blond cast around the room and then at the closed bathroom door. Tifa’s voice could be heard on the other side, only rarely answered by deep, monosyllabic responses from Vincent.

“Don’t fuckin’ ask me.”

“Whatever.” Cloud dumped the bags he carried next to Cid’s. “Hope it’s not another headache...”

It was not, in fact, a headache. Not by Cid’s standards, anyway.

Tifa came out of the bathroom grinning. She turned back to the door, hands on her hips, until Vincent stepped out. His hair was up in a tail, tied back by a very red ribbon. The shorter locks of hair near the front framed his face, and at that moment he tilted his head so that the bangs and the cloak mantle hid most of his expression.

Cid opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again, failed again. Finally, he managed to blurt, “Hey, not bad!”

“Hoo boy,” Cloud said.

“C’mon, Cid, can’t you be more articulate than that?” Tifa teased.

“I ain’t sayin’ shit in front of a damn audience.” Cid folded his arms and looked to the side, chin jutted up. It was easier being rude than romantic, and that grated on him. “Not here for your fuckin’ _entertainment_.”

“So touchy!”

“Let’s give ‘em a minute, Tifa.”

Cloud got up and grabbed their stuff, slinging the bags over one arm so he could grab Tifa’s elbow with his free hand. He didn’t pull; she went willingly, opening the door to let the two of them out.

“Thanks, Chief,” Vincent said into the quiet that followed.

Cid marched up to Vincent, not satisfied to leave it at such an off-handed, weakly given compliment. He grabbed Vincent by the collar of his cloak and pulled him down for a sound kiss. Then he let go and stepped back.

“Ya look great all the time, but this is… really nice. Thanks fer puttin’ all the effort in.”

Vincent swallowed, ducking his head. “Only for you.”

“Ah, hell, starshine, makin’ me wish we could just stay in bed.”

Rather than give into the temptation and tell everyone else to fuck off, Cid grabbed his spear and their bags. Vincent drifted over to wait by the door. When Cid came over, Vincent grabbed the handle and paused, not yet opening it.

“By the way… Your… business, is it, Chief?” Vincent’s gaze lingered on Cid’s shoulder. “Are we _business_ partners, then?”

“That’s even _worse_ than all the other shit we could be called!” Cid spluttered and shoved at Vincent, urging him out the door after Tifa and Cloud.


	20. a blinding dream

The distance to the WRO base was short enough that the four of them decided to walk. Tifa took the lead, arms swinging at her sides. Cloud and Vincent walked alongside one another, talking quietly. Trailing several steps behind, Cid kept his hands in his pockets and puffed at a cigarette, admiring the blue sky and fluffy clouds.

The WRO guards at the gate knew to expect them. After a cursory check of Tifa and Cloud’s IDs, plus reassurance that Vincent and Cid were who they said they were, the group was allowed inside.

A younger agent escorted them through the complex. He eagerly looked back now and then, wringing his hands. Cid could practically see the stars in the kid’s eyes. Vincent fell back to walk a half a step behind Cid, drawing his cape tighter around himself.

Their destination was a pair of double doors at the end of a hall. On the other side, Cait Sith stood atop a long table, patting at the half globe of a navigational device. Chairs lined the table on one side and at either end. Huge monitors covered the wall where no chairs stood, connected to a single console in the corner furthest from the doors. The opposite wall gave an impressive view of the horizon through ceiling to floor windows.

"Hey, gang!" the mechanical cat greeted, waving. "My other half'll be here in a bit."

As the group filed into the room, dropping their bags by the table, the WRO agent asked, "Is there anything I can get you? Coffee, tea, water? Snacks?"

Tifa glanced at Vincent, then spun on her heel and turned her sunniest smile on the young agent. "No, but thank you!"

"Oh, w-well, okay. If you change your mind, just, uh." The agent pointed out the phone on the wall near the computer console. "I'm, uh, WRO is happy to serve." Then he let himself on wobbly legs, looking flustered, and shut the door behind him.

"Sorry 'bout that," Cait Sith said, grinning. "Got an eager crop of newbies here!"

Cid blew out a breath, looking up at the ceiling. Cloud shook his head, claiming one of the chairs in the middle of the table. Vincent, no longer quite so on edge, leaned against the wall to the right of the doors and peered out the windows.

"You should tell Reeve to roll in the snack cart," Tifa said, as she sat next to Cloud. "With handwritten apologies for not _calling his friends_."

Cait Sith bounced up, waving his gloved hands in the air. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sure it wasn't intentional!" The cat scuffed his boots on the tabletop, hands going behind his back, ears drooped.

No one seemed moved by the posturing.

Cid least of all. He scoffed, thumbed his nose, and strode over to plop his ass down in the chairman's seat at the end of the table. As an extra act of defiance, he threw his feet up onto the table, crossing his legs at the ankle. He folded his arms and glowered at the mechanical cat.

"Thanks to ya, Vincent spent longer'n he oughta in the dark. _And_ I gotta make a fuck of a lotta uncomfortable calls." He turned his glare towards Tifa and Cloud. "Not that I don't appreciate y'all, but did ya not think to call anyone neither?"

"Hey!" Tifa slapped her hands on the table. "I called everyone I had numbers for! It's not my fault Reeve changes his number every other week, you never _gave_ me Shera's number, and no one else answered. Nanaki and Yuffie know."

“Ya could’ve called the fuckin’ company,” Cid grumbled. “It’s in the goddamn phone book.”

"Moowww!! Yuffie? That girl never said!" Cait Sith yelled over Cid, tail lashing. "I'll wring her neck!"

As if speaking of the devil herself summoned her, the doors banged open and in strode Yuffie. She looked around the room, waved at Cid with a big grin, and then launched herself at Vincent.

"Viiiiiiincent! You're _alive_!!"

Vincent made a soft grunt on impact, then stood there awkwardly, both arms pinned to his side. "...Yuffie."

She pulled away, cheeks puffed up. "Why didn't you come to your friends, stupid!" Another grunt suggested she kicked him in the ankle. "Worrying everyone like that, sheesh. You didn't even have the courtesy to give my materia back!"

"Sorry."

"Hmph." Yuffie put her hands on her waist, turning towards the rest of the group. She eyed Cid. "I _guess_ I'll give you a pass 'cuz you... hey, your eyes are different!"

"Mako poisoning," Cloud pointed out.

"Oh, hey, you aren't gonna be all..." Yuffie made a vague gesture that could have meant literally anything. It kind of looked like the charades version of an elephant painting a masterpiece. "...you know, _looking_ for more mako?"

Cid snorted. "Not interested.”

“You got lucky,” Cloud said.

“Sure, ‘cuz sweet pea was there to look after my ass and I never wanted to play at bein’ nobody else.”

Cloud’s protest was a weak, “Hey,” muffled by Tifa‘s, “Oh, _Gaia_ , Cid, you can’t just--“

Cait Sith tilted his head, squinty eyed. “Veeeery interesting. No addiction?”

“And no lingering sickness or loss of memory?” Reeve asked as he strode into the room.

He pushed a cart of snacks and drinks to the end of the table and left it there. Yuffie bounced over to start picking it over, soon followed by a bemused Tifa, who fixed herself a cup of tea with extra honey. And a shot of whiskey from one of those tiny bottles, hidden in one of the cart’s lower drawers.

“Memory’s not so hot,” Cid admitted. “But I knew who I was pretty damn quick, and where I was goin’ right off.” He couldn’t help but look towards Vincent; their eyes met, lingering. Cid looked away first, studying Reeve, who had wandered over to the computer console. “Don’t much remember what I was doin’ before. Ya gonna fill me in?”

“I will do my best,” Reeve promised.

One by one, the monitors flicked on, lines of code scrolling by rapidly until each screen showed an empty desktop. Reeve tapped at the keyboard and a black window popped up on the screen closest to him. He ran a few scripts, and soon the monitors displayed a collection of photographs--mugshots, landscapes, and surveillance shots from all around the world. With a tap, the photos cascaded into a stack at the bottom of the screens.

Cait Sith bopped the device in the middle of the table. The window shutters rolled down, cutting off the sunlight, and the lights dimmed. A glowing holographic map of the world appeared above the device, flat at first but soon topographic and then forming into a proper globe, marked with red and blue dots. The majority of the markers were on the western continent.

“Two years ago, we destroyed the Midgar reactors.” Reeve strode over to the snack cart, grabbed a can of apple juice, and then took a seat. “The WRO has since put in a lot of hours dismantling reactors around the world. When possible, the entire building is demolished.”

“Reeve,” Tifa said. “This doesn’t seem like a map of reactors.”

Vincent answered, “It’s not.”

“No. It’s not.” Reeve popped the tab of his drink and took a sip. “Some time during the last two years, someone began drilling.”

Yuffie wagged her sugary snack cake in the air, the sticky wrapping crinkling. “Yeah, those no good baddies are at it again!”

“Drilling for _what_?” Cloud asked.

Cid blurted, “Mako.” He blinked, frowned down at the table, and then nodded because the answer felt right. “We were lookin’ into it, right, and I fell in.”

“Yes.” Reeve motioned towards Cait Sith, who poked at one of the glowing blue dots.

The globe spun and grew on size, focusing on the dot. It sat out in the middle of the ocean northwest of Rocket Town, where one of four islands used to be. On the monitors, a series of surveillance photos slid up and arranged themselves in a timeline of the island before and after its destruction. Cid stared at one blurry photo that showed his plane on the beach.

“A little over four weeks ago, I asked Cid and Vincent to assist the WRO with the investigation of these incidents. We lost contact shortly after.”

“Why didn’t you ask the rest of us?” Cloud wondered.

“I made overtures, but ultimately decided it would be better to wait to see if the situation escalated. You, Tifa, and Barret have a family. Our friend Nanaki is needed in Cosmo Canyon. The Turks have their own missions.” Reeve shrugged. “I should have gotten in touch after the island sank, but I was so convinced that... the WRO could-- and should-- find them.”

“We’re found now,” Vincent pointed out. “What is the next step?” He straightened from the wall, and walked the length of the room, coming to a stop beside Cid’s chair. “Are we going to finish what we started, Highwind?”

“Ya ever known me to quit?” Cid swung his legs off the table and sat up. “Give us the damn briefin’ ya shoulda gave us last time, Reeve.”

“You didn’t even _brief_ them?!” Yuffie yelped, the same time as Tifa and Cloud both said, “Reeve,” in tones of voices that promised pain in the future.

Reeve, for his part, played it cool. He only adjusted his collar a little bit, clearing his throat, and then, perhaps deciding he could be heard better on the _other_ side of the table, got up and walked around so that he stood beneath the monitors. A flimsy table barrier wouldn’t protect him, not when his only weapon was a small mechanical cat dancing nervously on the table, but he seemed a great deal calmer.

“Since the WRO began operation Molehill--“ Several groans met this particular codename. “--we have successfully closed up drill sites here, here, and here.”

As Reeve spoke, Cait Sith manipulated the globe, tapping each spot. The monitors displayed related materials, mainly more surveillance shots from high overhead. The before, during, and after shots told much the same story every time. The land looking healthy, then torn asunder by erupting lifestream, and finally covered by loose soil, like a fresh grave.

“Our latest success happened east of Gongaga.”

When Cait Sith prodded the blue marker in question, all of the photos slid off the screens, making room for a new collection of photos. These weren’t just overhead surveillance, though. Up close shots showed a concrete base, penned in by chain link fences and barbed wire. Two warehouses with people in radiation suits coming and going, carting large metal cases. Heavy duty military jeeps and cargo trucks being loaded with these cases. And at the very back, wedged into the side of a cliff…

“Is that a goddamn reactor?!” Cid stood up so suddenly that his chair slid back and rebounded off the wall.

“It is indeed.”

The reactor didn’t look as impressive as those constructed by ShinRa, as though cobbled together from cheaper materials and salvaged parts. But there was no mistaking the shape, nor the glow of mako emanating from beneath it.

“This isn’t Shinra’s doing.” Cloud leaned back in his chair, frowning up at the monitors.

Tifa pointed at the globe, to a spot unmarked. “Rude said they were working on a project near Cosmo Canyon, setting up wind turbines.”

“Right,” Reeve agreed. “Rufus Shinra has no hand in this. Is, in fact, quite furious that anyone is using his company’s old designs to undo the work we’ve all done to restore the planet.”

“So who are they,” Vincent asked.

Cid added, “And where the fuck do we go to kick their asses?!”

Pacing, Reeve held his hands behind his back, head down. “We found no documentation or any indication of a larger group at work, but none of the captives possessed the kind of wealth to establish this kind of operation. None of them knew anything past what they needed to for the job. Their orders came through disposable phones, from payphones from around the world.” He stopped, and turned to face the group, the glowing monitors behind casting his face in shadow. “This is too well organized and we have no leads.”

“What the fuck,” Cid said, and a chorus of murmurs echoed him.

“All we have are readings indicating resurgence of mako in places it shouldn’t be coming up to the surface.”

Cait Sith tapped through some of the red markers. He let each one’s files sit on the screen for about ten seconds before moving onto the next.

“The WRO is investigating and filling in holes as fast as possible, but by the time the mako readings are noticeable enough for our scanners, the instigators have already moved on because it’s a failed site.”

“A properly functioning reactor won’t put off radiation,” Vincent pointed out. “You could be caught cleaning up their messes but never stopping their operation.”

“Correct.”

Tifa propped her elbow on the table, chin in hand. She stirred her neglected tea around, studying the globe. “There’s no nearby settlements near any of these dig sites... I guess no one’s seen anything?”

“Not that we’ve found,” Reeve answered.

“But like, most of them are on the western continent,” Yuffie explained, “So we know--”

“-- _think_ \--” Cait Sith corrected.

“--that the bad guys probably live somewhere nearby!”

“Who in the _hell_ would think goin’ back to mako is a good goddamn idea?” Cid slapped his palms down on the table. “The planet ‘bout killed us last time, lashin’ out cuz it hurt so bad.”

“The western continent is far enough removed from Midgar that their impressions of Meteorfall may be skewed by false information and rumor,” Reeve answered. “As you know, without mako, many cities lost power, some immediately. With no means to send out emergency broadcasts, there’s no way to guarantee consistent news.”

Vincent pushed the chairman’s seat away from the wall. He looked at the dent Cid made in his earlier outburst. “People will interpret what they want, anyway.”

“Correct.”

“So what do you mean to do?” Cloud asked. “Sit back and let another ShinRa build its wealth up?”

“No way!!” Yuffie yelled, jumping to her feet. “We’re gonna beat the bad guys just like always!”

Reeve nodded. “With assistance from Highwind Enterprises, the WRO has begun establishing aerial patrols.”

“Be like findin’ a needle in a haystack,” Cid muttered.

“Yes. It won’t be enough. I have plain clothes agents in every city and small settlement, but we’ve found nothing obviously related yet. Every city has its own brand of crime, little of it organized.”

“So, what, gonna keep flyin’ around aimlessly and waitin’ for someone to spill?” Cid wondered.

“I would like to have trusted agents investigate the currently known readings in case we stumble onto any other hidden bases. Otherwise, I believe we may be forced to take a closer look at the spending habits of the wealthy and the crooked.”

“Tifa,” Cloud said. “We should go home and get ready.”

“Yeah.” She pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll have to find a sitter ‘cuz Barret will want to help.” Tugging at her gloves, she smiled at Reeve. “Fly us home.”

“Of course.”

Cait Sith spun the globe so that the red and blue marks became long, blurred lines circling it. Then he leapt up and came down with a dramatic flip, slapping the navigational device to deactivate it. The lights came on and the shutters rolled up, letting in the late morning sun.

While Reeve strode to the door to open it and wait there, Tifa turned to Cid and Vincent. “Try not to get separated again!”

Cid nodded, once. He looked at Vincent, who looked back. “Ain’t nothin’ splittin’ us up again.”

“Later, then,” Cloud said, grabbing their bags. He followed Reeve and Tifa out of the room.

That left Cait Sith, who sat on the edge of the table with his legs kicking, and Yuffie, who went back to the snack cart to pick through it. Vincent bumped his arm against Cid’s then went to stand in front of the windows, arms folded.

“Hey, cat,” Cid said. “There a phone I can use?”

Cait Sith leaned forward, peering past Cid’s shoulder at the phone on the wall.

All too aware of Yuffie’s curious gaze, Cid shook his head. “One that’s a lil more private.”

“Oh, right!”

The mechanical cat slid off the table, waving for Cid to follow. It led the way out of the room and down the hall, into an empty office. On the desk sat a phone, right next to a sleeping computer. Cait Sith left him there to return to the conference room, narrowly dodging around Vincent with a startled yelp.

Cid looked over his shoulder, not the least bit surprised that Vincent had followed. He shrugged and went to sit at the desk, picking up the phone. Vincent hesitated in the doorway until Cid waved him in. Instead of taking one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, Vincent leaned against the wall near the door, eyes never leaving Cid.

“...Hell, not sure I remember Shera’s number. Been saved for so long I ain’t had to dial it.”

Frowning down at the phone in his hand, Cid gnawed at the inside of his cheek. The dial tone buzzed to let him know the phone was off the hook by the time he decided to just call the offices. He mashed the switch hook, then dialed.

“Highwind Enterprises, how may I help?” a warm female voice asked after two rings.

“Yeah, gimme Shera’s number.”

“I’m sorry, mister--“

“Highwind.”

“...Sir? Is this a practical joke? I can’t give you Miss Shera’s number and she’s not in her office right now.”

“Lady, send one of the boys to _find_ her ass then, and tell her Cid’s callin’.”

“Um. Please hold.”

Cid tipped the phone away from his ear, glaring up at the ceiling. Obnoxiously cheerful waiting music blasted from the headset. He covered the mouthpiece and growled, “Fuckin’ new secretary, don’t even know who the fuck _founded_ the place.”

Vincent ducked his head, shoulders shaking. The noise he made was a long exhale, as though equally exasperated.

During the five minute wait that followed, Cid leveled his glare at the _“no smoking”_ sign on the desk, right next to the bronze plate that gave a name to the owner of the office and his new nemesis. Out of spite, Cid helped himself to one of the hard candies found in the top desk drawer. It was toffee flavored. He waggled one of the shiny gold wrapped candies in Vincent’s direction, but got a head shake in response.

Finally, the damn waiting music cut off.

“Cid?” Shera’s voice, breathless.

“Hey, Shera.”

“Where have you _been_! Reeve said-- said they couldn’t find you or, or Vincent, and-- I thought…”

“Don’t cry,” Cid said, gruffly. “I didn’t mean to make ya worry. Shit got outta hand. Cloud and Tifa found me.”

She let out a sob anyway, and the sound got quieter, as if she pulled the phone away. Faintly, he heard her blow her nose.

When she’d collected herself again, she said. “Sorry, I was just so _afraid_ that I’d not get a chance to, to, to be your friend again. That we’d leave off on a bad note.”

“Oh, hell. Ain’t like that.” Cid rubbed at his chest, as though he could physically rub away the growing ache in his heart. “Listen, I’m still gonna be workin’ for Reeve for a while, but I’m gonna come home soon, gotta get a plane.”

“Will… you stay long enough for dinner this time?”

“Uh, sure.” Motioning at Vincent to get his attention, though it was already on him, Cid mouthed _dinner with Shera_. “Yanno Vince’ll prolly be with me, right?”

“Of course. The more the merrier.”

“Alright.” He didn’t know what else to say. Shifting around in his seat, he racked his brain for something to break the awkward silence.

Shera came to the rescue. “I’m really glad you’re safe, Cid.”

“Me, too, Shera.”

“Oh,” she said, with another watery sniffle. “I need to get back to work, I can’t be crying on the phone all morning!!”

“You do that, hon.”

“Come to the house when you get here. I still have the guest rooms made up if you and Vincent need somewhere less dusty to sleep, okay?”

“Thanks, Shera.”

“See you soon, Captain.”

“Later.” Cid hung up and laid his head on his arm atop the desk. “Goddamn saint.”

Vincent came around to stand at his side, reaching out to lay his hand atop Cid’s head. They stayed like that, neither speaking, until Cid got himself together again.

“Let’s go save the goddamn world,” Cid said, getting up. “For real this time.”


	21. through the secrets

By the time they returned to the conference room, Reeve was already there, perched on the corner of the table nearest to the computer console. Cait Sith paced the length of the table. Yuffie sprawled in her chair, legs propped on the table; she slurped idly at a juice box while fiddling with her phone.

“Cid. Vincent.” Reeve stood up, smoothing out his commissioner’s robe. “Shall we discuss your mission parameters?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cid said, making a beeline for the snack cart. He laid claim to canned tea and a bag of candy sticks. “Startin’ with the fact that me and Vince need to get some gear and a ride first.”

“Yes. Tell me what you need, and if the WRO can provide it, we will.”

Cid pulled a chair out from the table and flopped into it. He held the bag of candy sticks out to Vincent, low enough that no one else could see it. Vincent made a show of coming to stand beside Cid with his back to the table so he could lean against it. With his cloak obscuring line of sight even further, he snagged a strawberry stick.

After opening his tea and taking a drink, Cid listed off, “Materia, explosives, cell phones, camping kit...”

“Not a problem.”

“...tea and cigs, food stuff, yanno, the usual.”

Reeve nodded. “All of that can be arranged. Now, as for transportation--”

“I’m goin’ home to get one of my planes.”

“Understood. Anything else?”

“I will need to make a visit to Nibelheim,” Vincent admitted. He’d made the candy stick disappear into some pocket. “And ammo.”

“I will make arrangements,” Reeve promised. “Yuffie?”

“I’m going with them.”

Cid sat up straight. “No fuckin’ way!”

“Yes way! _Someone_ has to make sure you two old people don’t break a hip or something!”

Already Cid felt tension building at the back of his skull, the precursor to an oncoming headache that promised to stick around for as long as Yuffie did. He glanced up at Vincent and was met with a blank stare. No help on that front, it seemed. Nor did Reeve offer any assistance, calmly watching the exchange with his best poker face.

“I ain’t takin’ stowaways with me when I go home.” Cid slammed his tea can down on the table hard enough to slosh it out over the sides. “If I gotta put up with yer noisy ass, then stay the fuck outta my hair til after I’m done in Rocket Town.”

“Nnno problem!” Yuffie jumped out of her chair. “I’m gonna go pack!”

“Yuffie,” Reeve said, but it was too late. She’d already raced out of the room. Sighing, Reeve shook his head and went to the phone on the wall. “I’ll just... go ahead and prepare a flight to Rocket Town, shall I?”

“Let’s take a walk, Cid,” Vincent suggested. He left the room without waiting to see if Cid would follow.

Not that he needed to.

Cid hurried after Vincent like his life depended on it. He took the bag of candy sticks with, but left the can of tea in a congealing puddle on the table. Someone else’s problem.

They walked together through the base, out onto the tarmac. Vincent led the way over to the lee of one of the buildings, out of the wind, and leaned there to watch the comings and goings of aircraft. Cid plopped down on the ground by his feet, grabbing a random candy stick to crunch on.

“How the fuck we gonna find these assholes? And puttin’ up with goddamn Yuffie...”

“I wasn’t aware you were so easily discouraged, Highwind.”

Cid shot a glare up at Vincent. “Sit yer ass down here if ya gonna give me sass.”

“As you wish.”

Not only did Vincent sit next to Cid, but he settled close enough that their arms pressed together. Cid tugged at the cloak, pulling it around his shoulders. Vincent rolled his eyes up, and didn’t resist the sticky kiss to his cheek.

“You’re ridiculous, Chief.”

“And ya _like_ me.”

“Mhm.”

They spent an enjoyable thirty minutes or so doing nothing except basking in the other’s presence.

Cid’s temper cooled down as he worked through the logistics of putting up with Yuffie. He couldn’t begin to guess what they’d do about the mission, but he trusted Vincent and Reeve to figure it out. All he had to do was get another bird in the air.

A voice from a nearby speaker warbled, “Would Cid Highwind, Vincent Valentine, and Yuffie Kisaragi please come to Air Lane 2? Thanks kindly!”

“Was that... Cait Sith?” Vincent wondered.

“So fuckin’ polite.” Cid frowned. “...Am I gonna have to put up with the damn cat, too?”

Vincent didn’t answer. He twitched his cloak, making it do the weird organic thing where it swirled and slithered and reformed around his shoulders looking like normal wool. Then he stood up and strode off, leaving Cid to scramble to catch up.

A plane, Yuffie, Reeve, Cait Sith, their belongings, and most of their requested supplies awaited them at Air Lane 2. Cid wasn’t happy to note that a pilot _and_ co-pilot already occupied the cockpit.

“Passenger flight, huh, Reeve?” he demanded.

“I’m afraid so.” Reeve bent to set Cait Sith down on its feet. “One stop in Nibelheim and then on to Rocket Town, where you can fly your own machines to your heart’s content. This plane needs to go on to Cosmo Canyon.”

“Whatever, let’s get this over with.”

As feared, Cait Sith bounded onto the plane ahead of them. It clambered up into a seat by the window and strapped in, humming cheerfully. Yuffie went next, throwing her bags into the luggage compartment. She took the seat closest to the bathroom, and came as prepared as possible for her motion sickness with a stack of brown paper bags, headphones, and a handheld gaming device.

Before Cid or Vincent could board the plane, Reeve held out a briefcase. “Updated mission files,” he said, by way of explanation.

The two men exchanged a look. Cid shrugged and took the briefcase. It was slim and lightweight, unlike the unwieldy stack of folders they’d been given before. He squinted at it, thumbing the latches, but Reeve held a hand up.

“You’ll have ample time to go over everything during your flight.”

“Eh, right.”

Reeve produced a brown leather wallet next, holding it out to Cid. “I wasn’t able to acquire cell phones on such short notice, but prepaid cards should cover the expense.”

“Nice, thanks.” Cid took the wallet, shoving it into his back pocket. “Ya gonna want it back?”

“No, it’s yours to keep.” Reeve didn’t offer Vincent a wallet, but two cards of his own.

Vincent held his hand up, palm out, and nodded towards Cid. When the cards and responsibility had been passed over, Vincent swept into the plane, leaving Reeve with a finger up and his mouth open like he meant to say more.

“Sorry, Reeve,” Cid said, clapping him on the shoulder on the way into the plane. “We’ll get those phones when we land.”

“...Good. Take care of yourselves.”

Inside, Vincent stood by the seats furthest in the back, arms folded and head down as if he were trying to decide which seat to take. Cid made the decision for him, sliding in to sit by the window. Vincent took the other seat without protest, and with minimal claw damage to the arm rest.

The flight took up the rest of their afternoon. Cid, bored to tears within the first ten minutes, opened the briefcase to find a pair of tablet pcs, both in heavily reinforced cases.

“...Guess he ain’t seen how good ya are with phones.”

Vincent sighed.

The tablets unlocked at their thumbprints. Neither possessed the ability to connect to the internet, nor any apps or anything remotely fun. They existed solely to display maps, photographs, and mission reports. Cid pored through them idly, but there wasn’t anything new.

“Innit weird... a whole workin’ reactor near Gongaga?”

Vincent looked over, brow raised. “How so?”

“ShinRa’s reactor in Gongaga blew up. What kinda fuckin’ sway does this new group have to build another one?”

“It’s fifty miles out, is it not?”

“Sure, but that ain’t far enough if it blows.”

“Hmm.” Vincent tucked his chin, hair falling over his face.

As that usually meant a conversation’s end, Cid let it go, tapping through more files. He didn’t come up with anything else that stuck out and kept coming back to Gongaga, drumming his fingers against the sides of the tablet.

Hours later, the pilot announced their imminent arrival to Nibelheim before Vincent moved again.

“We should start at Gongaga.”

“Right?” Cid grinned.

“The WRO has no doubt canvassed the area thoroughly, but locals may not be inclined to answer honestly if they’ve been wronged by wealthy organizations in the past.”

“Ya think they’ll answer ya ‘n me?”

“No.” Vincent gazed towards the front of the plane, where Yuffie doubled over a paper bag. “But perhaps a young girl’s curiosity.”

“...Oh, damn. That’s fuckin’ brilliant.” Cid rubbed at his scruffy chin, noting that he’d need to shave again soon. He wondered who’d shaved him while he slept. “Ya think she can stay on task?”

“She works for the WRO, Cid.” Vincent closed his eyes, hiding his amusement behind hair and cape. “Since it hasn’t collapsed yet, it may be safe to assume she has gained _some_ competence in the last few years...”

“Hey! That was _almost_ a compliment!”

Vincent snorted.

The plane landed outside Nibelheim with minimum turbulence. Vincent got off alone, and was gone for almost forty-five minutes. He came back with a heavy duffle bag full of ammo and supplies. After securing it in the cargo hold and getting everyone back to their seats, the plane took off again. Cid spent the rest of the flight snoozing in his chair, chin lolling on his chest.

He woke at the rumble of the plane touching down and blinked blearily through the pilot’s garbled announcement that they needed to remain seated because two other planes were ahead of them at the terminal. Rolling his neck to crack it, then stretching out to work the kinks from his stiff joints, Cid glanced around. Nothing had changed during his brief nap. Vincent sat statue still next to him, Yuffie clutched at her headphones as if noise would drown out nausea, and Cait Sith hummed while enjoying the view out the window.

Cid leaned towards Vincent, pitching his voice low. “Ya up for cellphone shoppin’ tonight, or wanna call it a day?”

Tired red eyes spoke volumes. Vincent hunched his shoulders, turning his face away. “We should get the phones--“

“Can do it in the mornin’. One more day won’t hurt nobody.” Cid wanted to reach out, offer physical comfort, but he knew better. “Ya ain’t in the mood to gossip anyhow, right?”

“...No.”

Nodding, Cid shifted in his seat to chin prop near the window. He couldn’t see much past the wing and the glow of orange lights, but it kept him from staring and fretting at Vincent. Soon, they’d be off the plane and they could collapse in a bed, somewhere dark and still.

They were let off the plane with all of their luggage unloaded roughly thirty minutes later. Airport staff offered to carry their belongings, but Cid waved the help off in favor of requisitioning one of his trucks from the garage. He graciously allowed Yuffie and Cait Sith to pile in and gave them a ride to the inn.

“Ya okay for dinner at Shera’s?” Cid asked, when they were alone, slowly driving down nearly empty streets.

“Yes.”

“‘Kay.”

Instead of making the turn towards his apartment, Cid continued straight on, towards the house he’d called home for half his life. The outside hadn’t changed much since Shera became its sole owner. She rarely took days off, and left the landscaping and house cleaning to hired help. The flower beds were new, but empty so late in the year; someone had put out an assortment of pumpkins in all sizes and colors in the place of flowers.

Cid parked around back. The minute the engine was off, Vincent spoke, “Thank you. For... always being so considerate.”

Cid blinked, then scoffed, smiling. “Told ya, didn’t I, whatever ya need, starshine.” He peered out the windshield, studying the dark windows of the house. “Don’t look like Shera’s home yet. I’ll go get the spare, if ya wanna take a quiet min.”

Vincent nodded, and got out of the truck. He hesitated, looking back at Cid, and then vanished into the night. His aura of mystery and gloom was only somewhat dampened by the ponytail and pretty turtleneck, and honestly, the abrupt changes in wardrobe, on top of all the talking and flying that day was a lot to deal with at once.

Cid pushed the truck’s lighter, activating it, and dug out a cigarette. When he had it lit and the first lungful of smoke duly appreciated, he got out with a lazy stretch. He left most of their stuff in the back, retrieving only the briefcase and the bags containing clothes from the group’s favorite mom and her erstwhile brooding chocobo. If Vincent had anything else he wanted, he could get it himself. Cid wasn’t going to lug forty pounds of ammo around, and he wasn’t going to rifle through belongings to check for anything else.

The house had two spare keys, the last time Cid lived there. A check of the overturned terracotta pot near the back door revealed Shera had changed one’s hiding spot. The other, hidden beneath a roof tile near the stove pipe, remained untouched, possibly because Shera couldn’t jump nor climb as well as Cid. He fetched it and used it to unlock the back door.

Deja vu washed over him as he flicked the hall and porch lights on, revealing the comfortable, lived in clutter of a rocket scientist with too little time for home decor. He hung the spare on the key rack as he kicked his boots off, and then he headed up to drop bags off in one of the guest bedrooms, which had once been his room and now felt sparse and alien. As promised though, it was clean and dust free.

It was tempting to sprawl on the bed and nap until Shera got home. Instead, he went downstairs to make tea.

Vincent came back as Cid lifted the whistling tea kettle from the stove top. They exchanged looks; Cid hefted the kettle, brows raised, and Vincent nodded. While Vincent removed his boots and left them in a neat row by the door, heels against the wall, Cid dumped tea bags in the kettle to steep. Shera didn’t drink as much tea as Cid, but she kept her pantry stocked with the basics, plus the box of black carob nut he’d laid claim to for the novelty.

With practiced ease that came from visiting the house in the years following the crisis, Vincent came into the kitchen and went straight for the cupboard containing cups. He set out three glasses for tea, then laid claim to a larger, plastic one that had goofy cartoon cats decorating its scratched surface. At Cid’s curious look, he rattled the small satchel he had clutched in his talons. It rattled with the distinct sound of pills in bottles.

The memory of Vincent taking a line of pills, of becoming tense and heated snapped into place. Cid nodded, glancing away.

“It’s... been four weeks,” Vincent said. “In a damp tunnel.”

“Yeah? Ya gonna be alright?”

“Can you make chicken noodle soup?”

Cid blinked, laughed, and shook his head. “Can heat ya up a mean can of it, sure.”

“Then I’ll be fine.”

Though the kitchen sink was right there, Vincent took the cup and his bag of medicine upstairs to the privacy of a bathroom. Cid sat his ass down and waited for his goddamn tea.

Forever slow, Shera didn't show up within the next hour, so once Cid got through two cups of tea and the following bathroom break, he sprawled on the couch in the living room and turned the television on. Vincent found him dozing through some action-packed movie with a shallow plot, the volume low enough not to startle him.

"Why don't you come to bed, Cid?"

"Wha' time is it?"

"Does it matter?" Vincent leaned over the back of the couch. His hair was down, falling over his shoulders and hanging down tantalizingly close.

"Dunno."

Cid gave into temptation and reached up, threading his fingers through the hair at Vincent's nape. He tugged, lightly, and sat up, angling his own head so their mouths met at mostly the right angle. It was little more than a brush of lips; Cid pulled back half an inch, grinning, and then nipped at Vincent's lower lip. Vincent huffed, amused, but obligingly opened his mouth, allowing for deeper exploration.

When they broke away for air, Vincent turned his face aside, denying Cid the chance to resume. In retaliation, Cid nipped at his jaw.

"I doubt Shera wants to come home to find us making out on her couch."

"So ya wanna go _upstairs_ and make out?"

Vincent planted his palm over Cid's face, fingers curling up into his hair, and gently pushed him away and down. He didn’t remove his hand, not even when Cid tried to reach the heel of Vincent’s palm with the tip of his tongue.

The front door opened and Shera paused in the doorway, head tilted. She had plastic bags of takeout in one hand, her keys in the other, and and increasingly amused expression on her face as neither Vincent nor Cid moved, frozen.

“I brought… curry,” she said, lifting the bags. “Do I need to step back out and give you a minute to get through your adolescence?”

Vincent pulled his hand away as if burned and took a step back. Cid sat up too fast; blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy.

“Uhh, fuck, if ya gonna ditch us already, leave the food.”

“...growing boys need to eat a lot, after all,” Vincent added, voice as dry as the desert surrounding the Gold Saucer.

Shera broke out laughing. It was the slightly hysterical laugh that comes of too many sleepless nights and too many days putting in more overtime than is strictly healthy. She doubled over, clutching her knees, and laughed until she cried, and every time she looked up at them, she went off giggling again.

The men exchanged glances. Vincent’s look held a faint edge of worried tension, as if to say _is she going to be okay?_ and that, combined with Shera’s infectious amusement, set Cid off. He couldn’t help but laugh, everything was so ridiculous.

Vincent sighed, deeply, and shook his head while gazing up at the ceiling. He looked so put upon and aggrieved that Cid and Shera broke out into new rounds of hilarity.

When it became apparent neither Shera nor Cid were going to stop anytime soon, Vincent spun on his heel and escaped to the kitchen. His dramatic exit was only slightly dampened by the lack of cloak, as his hair flew about magnificently enough on its own.

“Oh fuck,” Cid wheezed, getting up on wobbly legs. His face felt like it was going to split and his chest hurt from laughing so hard. “That’s good.”

Shera straightened, letting out a watery, happy sigh, and swiped at her eyes. “I missed you. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

Cid held his hand out to help with the bags of food. “Me too.”

She relinquished the bags but not without grabbing him for a bone-crushing hug. Though much shorter and plumper and all around softer than he, she was not a weak woman. Working on heavy machinery all day didn’t allow for it. He hugged back, one-armed and awkward, until she let go and practically dragged him into the kitchen.

“Look out,” Cid warned Vincent, “The lady of the house is bein’ touchy-feely.”

Shera jabbed Cid in the side, smiling. Not even a little sorry for making him grunt and jerk away. Then she strode across her kitchen, cornering Vincent. She did not, however, force him into a hug, instead offering her hand, which he delicately took in his own, looking like a deer in headlights as she clasped it in both her hands.

“Thank you for looking after the Captain. Tell me if I need to run him over for you.”

“Ah.” Vincent averted his gaze, shoulders shaking.

“Hey--!” Cid spluttered, dropping the bags on the table.

Shera turned with a sunny smile, shooing Cid towards the abandoned kettle by the sink. “Make some tea, please.” To Vincent, she said, “Set the table?” As for herself, she went to the back door to shed her purse, keys, and lab coat, hanging them up. She’d stepped out of her heels near the front door.

Grumbling with faked irritation, Cid rinsed out the kettle and refilled it. Vincent set the table without comment, ever so careful not to touch any glassware with his talons. Shera returned to the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge and to set the sugar and honey at the center of the table. Then she unbagged the takeout boxes, opening them up to reveal curry, flatbread, rice, and other delectables.

When the kettle whistled and Cid dumped tea bags in to steep, Shera announced, “Okay, let’s eat!”

They sat together and ate in near silence, companionable and content, like they’d always done.

In years past, Cid would’ve left the mess for Shera to deal with. That night, he shooed her off to her room and put the leftovers away and did the dishes himself. Vincent loitered nearby with a rag to dry newly cleaned dishes, not much help at all, but pleasant company all the same.

“Do you feel better?” Vincent asked, softly, as they climbed the stairs.

Cid paused at the top of the steps, watching Vincent continue on towards the guest bedroom. “What for?”

“Making amends with Shera.”

“Huh.” He hadn’t really thought about it. “...Yeah.”

He and Shera had lived together so long, even if he fucked it up and made it bad for her. Somehow, she not only didn’t hate him, but she wanted to keep him around, in whatever capacity. They _were_ family, in all but name. It felt like a familiar, but still new thought, washed away by the mako until he stumbled upon it again.

Cid didn’t say anything else until they were settled into the guest bed, the door firmly closed.

“Hey, Vince…?”

“Hmm?”

“Ya ever think ‘bout family?”

“In that I don’t have one,” Vincent sighed. “Is this really the topic you want to discuss before bed?”

“Yeah, ‘cuz I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to, uh. Yanno. _Be_ family.”

Red eyes opened, glowing in the dark, and studied him. Cid tried not to squirm or blurt anything he’d regret. Goosebumps prickled along his arms as nervous heat tightened its claws around his heart.

Vincent sat up all of a sudden, taking the blankets with him. “Are you--“ He lifted his hands, and then dropped them.

“Not ever gonna want anyone else, Vincent, so… so, uh. Would ya?”

“I.” Vincent leaned over him, blinking rapidly. The dog tags dangled from his neck; neither had broached the subject of returning them. “Can’t even warn you off from everything wrong with me at this point, can I?”

“Nope. I’m workin’ my way up to bein’ just as fucked up.” Gently, Cid cradled Vincent’s face between his hands. His breath hitched when something warm and wet dripped over his fingers, running down his wrists. “Ah, hell, are ya--?”

“I don’t want anyone else, either, Cid.”

With a relieved, delighted laugh, Cid pulled him down and kissed away the rain.


	22. wash the sorrow

In the morning, Vincent hunched at the end of the bed, tense and wound up enough to tremble. The sound of metal against metal tap, tap, tapping filled the silence, waking Cid. At some point while Cid slept, Vincent changed into clothes more like his old ones, dreary black and practical, covering every inch of skin but his face.

As the haze of sleep faded away, Cid gave a slow full body stretch, half to announce himself and half for the pleasure of well-stretched muscles. Vincent fell still, not even breathing.

And then, in a whisper, he asked, “Did I dream it?”

“ _No_.” Cid sat up and scooted down the bed until he was behind Vincent. He wrapped his arms around Vincent’s shoulders, pulling until he had a very stiff back pressed to his front. “Unless ya changin’ yer mind, gonna be stuck with me til the end of days.”

“...and you meant it.”

“Always, starshine.”

Vincent went boneless in his arms, slipping down until the back of his head settled on Cid’s shoulder. He tilted it back far enough that he could study Cid’s face in silent awe. Gently, Cid brushed hair away from Vincent’s face.

“Was thinkin’...” Cid started, looking away because being gazed at with such adoration was making him blush. “Don’t know much ‘bout Gongaga’s situation, and… dunno if we’ll get the chance to slow down once we get started… so, d’ya wanna take an extra day and get our affairs sorted before we head out?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good, ‘cuz I gotta get ya somethin’ solid to remind ya it’s real.”

Vincent made a soft, _oh_ , sound. Before Cid knew what happened, Vincent had twisted around and pinned him flat out on the bed, sprawled over him with elbows planted on either side of his head. Cid swallowed a yelp, not knowing how early in the morning it was and not wanting to disturb Shera.

“I won’t be able to wear a ring in the traditional place,” Vincent said, matter-of-factly. He flexed golden claws between their faces, grasping at the air as if to tear it apart.

“Nah. What d’ya want instead?”

As if he’d expected Cid to be stumped by his lack of arm, Vincent blinked at him, lowering his arms until they laid flat on the bed, caging Cid’s head between them. Cautious, Cid glided his hands up Vincent’s back, settling against his spine in a very loose embrace.

The movement seemed enough to prompt a response. Vincent pulled the dog tags off with his flesh hand, pressing them against Cid’s chest. “Until the world no longer needs us, Highwind, you’d better make sure it’s practical and not easily lost.”

“Okay, sure.” Cid lifted his right hand from Vincent’s back and laid it over the other man’s hand and the dog tags. “Ya got any preference for ‘em?”

“Our names.” Vincent laid his head down, cheek against their hands. “I haven’t had tags of my own since my Turk days...”

“Do ya remember your ID?”

“...Yes. Is that what yours has on it, ShinRa numbers?”

“These’re my original tags,” Cid admitted.

“What did ShinRa have you doing? A rocket engineer wouldn’t need military tags...”

His left ear began to ring, a discordant, high pitched shriek not heard since shrapnel narrowly missed taking chunks of his face off. “...Was a dragoon for nine years.” Cid shifted, moving to put his weight on his elbows. “Lemme up, I gotta take a leak.”

Vincent rolled off of him and stood. “Sorry.”

“No, uh... Shit, I’ll tell ya ‘bout it later.” Sitting up caused the tags to drop into his lap; Cid picked them up, looking at the familiar numbers, the old dings and nicks that proved he’d survived. He put the cold chain around his neck and stood, clasping Vincent’s shoulder. “Ain’t told anybody any of this shit, so... Don’t get all guilty, alright?”

Then he went, off to the bathroom to relieve his full bladder and splash a lot of cold water into his face until the old ghosts quieted back down. Nobody ever asked, _Cid, what did you do before the rocket launch failed?_ No one questioned why he used a spear in a post-SOLDIER world, when guns and materia were more effective. Not one person asked why he picked up mechanical engineering and _rocket science_ and kept building safer, better ways to get away from other humans. And that made it so much easier not to think about his life before everything took a sharp downturn for the drink.

It figured Vincent would be the one to make him start dealing with old hurts. Only fair, really, since most of Vincent’s past had been laid bare for gawkers.

He brushed his teeth and spat blood and toothpaste into the sink, watching red foam swirl down the drain. He rinsed and rinsed until his gum stopped bleeding, and then pulled his lip down to inspect his teeth, reassuring himself that it wasn’t mako poisoning loosening his teeth until they all fell out.

Cid left the bathroom, returning to the guest room to dress. Vincent watched from the corner of the bed, all wrapped up in his cloak, not reacting even when Cid changed his boxers.

While zipping up his pants, Cid stepped in front of Vincent and bent down until their faces were inches apart. Red eyes blinked and refocused on the present. Vincent leaned back.

“Ya okay? ‘Cuz I’m gonna be if ya stay with me.”

“...I will be,” Vincent allowed, and didn’t resist when Cid pulled at his cloak, parting it.

Cid slid his arms around Vincent, hands flat against his back. “Good. Gonna marry the hell outta ya _’cuz_ ya don’t let me get complacent.”

“What a ridiculous reason.”

“Pssht, like ya want someone to coddle ya, Mr. Valentine.”

“Hmm.”

Rather than a proper answer, Vincent hooked his good arm around Cid’s waist and pulled until the shorter man was in his lap. He rested their foreheads together, eyes closed.

They stayed that way until the creak of floorboards in the hall announced Shera finally getting up. Cid had forgotten to shut the door. He twisted around to look over his shoulder and met Shera’s sleepy, bemused look. Vincent stared over Cid’s other shoulder, bony chin digging into the muscle there.

“Good... morning?” Shera tried, and then yawned, rubbing at her cheek.

“Uhh. Shit, not what it fuckin’ looks like.” Since he wasn’t ashamed of his position, Cid didn’t move. The steady increase of pressure around his waist suggested Vincent wouldn’t let him go anyway. But he did feel bad that it _looked_ like a setup for her to stumble upon them in a compromising position.

“Are you offended by two men conducting business?” Vincent deadpanned.

“Holy _shit_ , Valentine, what the f--”

Shera giggled, snorting into the back of her hand. “Is _that_ what they call it?”

Cid squirmed, trying to get loose, and as expected, Vincent didn’t let go. He glowered at Vincent, but a cool, blank stare was the only response.

“You could’ve just said, Captain,” Shera said, already moving off towards the stairs.

“Yeah, Chief,” Vincent echoed, low and rumbling. “Are you going to tell her?

“No shit I’m gonna tell her. We gotta tell all our friends ‘cuz that’s what ya _do_ , unless we wanna keep bein’ the worst kept secret this side of the planet.”

“You have to tell Tifa, Cloud, and Barret,” Vincent said, instantly.

Cid stared, jaw hanging. “...Ya gotta tell Yuffie. And yer boy crush, Reeve.”

“Boy... crush...?”

“The way that man looks at ya is sinful, Vince.” Cid poked Vincent in the shoulder. “An’ he looked like _shit_ when we didn’t know where ya were. Cleaned his ass up real quick for that meetin’.”

Vincent tucked his face into the mantle of his cape, considering. The longer the silence dragged out, the more Cid began to dread what Vincent would say next. The prospect of Reeve’s crush didn’t seem to garner any strong reaction one way or the other from Vincent, and that lack of emotion never boded well.

“...He will have to be disappointed,” Vincent finally said.

“Should fuckin’ _hope_ so!”

“Are you opposed to sharing?” The question was asked blandly, like an inquiry after the weather.

“W--” Cid snapped his jaw shut, teeth clicking. The conversation had taken several weird turns and his head spun for it. He dropped his forehead against Vincent’s chest until the buzz in his brain settled enough for coherent thought. “Right now? Yeah. With Reeve? Yeah, not interested.”

Vincent rubbed his fingers up the back of Cid’s neck, carding them into his hair. “I have no intention of allowing anyone else to have you anytime soon, Highwind. Not even death will keep me from you.”

“Ya better put my damn corpse in the ground and not get damn weird with it, Vincent.”

Vincent huffed, amused. “I promise, no funny business until the planet returns you to me.”

Cid sat up, eyeing Vincent, both hands flat against his chest. “Seem real fuckin’ confident that’s gonna happen.”

“We are owed, and if the planet does not agree, then I will have words with your sweet pea.”

“...Who the fuck’s gonna tell _her_?”

“Not us,” Vincent said, pulling him in for a kiss that was too chaste by far.

Cid slid his hands up and laced them together behind Vincent’s neck, enthusiastically pressing for deeper kisses that involved more tongue and teeth. Vincent indulged him, but soon pulled away.

“You realize Shera is sitting downstairs, likely wondering if we’ve remembered to close the door while we’re being indecent?”

“Aw, hell.”

All thoughts of spending the rest of the morning making out were flattened under the weight of Vincent’s logic. Cid pushed off of him with a grunt. He squinted at the red-eyed demon on the bed, licking his lips, and resolutely turned away to march downstairs. Vincent was not far behind, looking entirely too unruffled.

In the kitchen, Shera was not, in fact, worrying what her two guests were up to. She stood in front of the stove, burning bacon, just the way Cid liked it. She brandished her greasy tongs at him when he reached for one of the finished pieces drying on a paper towel covered plate, but made no protest whatsoever when Vincent did the same.

“Fuckin’ favoritism, that,” Cid accused.

“Whatever you say, Cid.” Shera smiled, wagging her tongs towards the as of yet unused frying pan on the other burner. “Please scramble some eggs. I’m dying slowly without you cooking breakfast for me. Look at all the pounds I’ve lost since you moved out.”

Vincent eyed Shera speculatively, crunching on bacon. He waited until Cid had his head in the fridge to comment. “Cid, do you… have a penchant for being tormented?”

Cid banged his head on the fridge and nearly dropped the milk. “Shit!” Rubbing at the bump, clutching the bottle of milk against his chest, he spun to gawk at Vincent.

“Oh, Gaia, does he?” Shera wondered, pulling two particularly blackened pieces of bacon from the popping grease. “I should have started needling sooner.”

“I’m not certain I was ever a worthy romantic rival,” Vincent said. “If you had shown more bite, I doubt he would have picked _me_.”

“Flatterer.”

“I ain’t sayin’ a goddamn thing,” Cid announced. “Not diggin’ this grave and jumpin’ in. Nope, fuck that.” He retrieved the eggs and butter and went to his assigned frying pan to get to work.

“Hmm, that’s too bad,” Shera sighed. “Oh, well, I guess we can just gossip. How long have you been together, Vincent?”

“I have been part of AVALANCHE for five years. I met you the same day that I met Cid. We’ve rarely been apart since.”

Cid guffawed, unable to help himself, and got elbowed by Shera, who puffed her cheeks up.

“Oh, _you_! That’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” Vincent said, and refused to say anything else. He did, however, set the table without being asked, perhaps as a gambit to get out of any further interrogation.

Shera turned her sights on Cid. “So?”

“Uhh. I don’t fuckin’ know what _counts_ ,” Cid admitted. Before she could get too huffy, he blurted, “I proposed last night, okay?”

“Oh.” Shera blinked, forgot how to breathe, remembered how to breathe, and then jumped at Cid, squeezing his arm until it felt like it might pop off. The tongs clattered on the stove top between burners, forgotten. “I’m so happy for you!” Because Vincent stayed well out of her reach, she flapped her hand in his direction excitedly.

Cid exhaled, relieved. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Yer the first to know.”

“Oh!” She pumped her fist into the air, squeezing tighter, and then let go. “Is that because your phone isn’t charged.”

“No, I fuckin’ lost it.”

Shera looked to Vincent, who shrugged, holding his cape aloft to demonstrate his lack of phone.

“You’re both impossible and going to get new phones immediately after breakfast because I won’t be able to stop any of your friends if they decide to murder you.”

“Yes’m,” Cid said, the same time as Vincent’s, “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled and finished her bacon and put toast on and heckled Cid until he finished the eggs _and_ made tea. Then she shooed them into their seats and put out a bowl of oranges, the milk, and a bottle of ketchup. And napkins, and she would have fussily gone for other things if Cid hadn’t caught the hem of her nightgown and tugged her towards a seat.

“Okay, okay. Let’s eat. I have to go to work…” Shera frowned at the clock over the sink. “An hour ago.”

After filling his plate and taking a few leisurely bites, Cid said, "Hey, Shera, uh..."

"Yes?"

"Would ya be opposed to bein' my, uh, best man?"

"...what."

"Well, or, bridesmaid, I guess? I dunno how this'd work..."

"I'm inclined to make the Turks into bridesmaids," Vincent said, not even looking up from buttering charred toast. "It is the least I can do for Elena."

Cid rubbed at his jaw, brow furrowing as he tried and failed to follow Vincent's logic. "What d'ya mean?"

"...he's joking about making them wear dresses, Cid," Shera explained. "Tseng would look rather fetching."

Torn between boggling over Shera's apparent approval of Tseng's looks, his inability to imagine _Rude_ in a dress, and his overall distaste for Reno as a person, never mind a person in any kind of fancy wear not assigned to him by work, Cid rubbed at his forehead, face scrunched up.

"You alright, Chief?" Vincent's voice was close to his ear, making him jump.

“Shit, _warn_ a guy!”

“You’ll go to your grave early if you don’t relax more, Cid,” Shera commented.

Vincent’s expression became guarded as he straightened back up and went back to picking at his frugal plate of a single slice of toast and a handful of bacon.

“Yeah, fuck that, I’m gonna be a damn cockroach motherfucker.” Cid jostled Vincent’s knee with his own. “Can’t scare my ass to death.”

Vincent pressed their thighs together, then pulled away. “If you say so, Chief.”

“Damn right.”

After finishing their breakfasts, Shera made to collect the dishes. “Do either of you need anything before I go--?”

“Yeah, get yer ass ready for work and get outta here.” Cid flapped his napkin at her, chasing her off from cleanup. “We ain’t needed anywhere, unlike _you_.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing as she fled upstairs.

Once again, Cid did the dishes, and felt that he got off lightly for being such a grade-A asshole. Vincent sat at the table and didn’t even pretend to help, watching Cid be domestic with a faraway, yet relaxed, look.

Shera came downstairs to collect her things and put her sensible heels on. “Call me when you’re going to leave, okay?” She waved, then let herself out the front door, heading off for work.

“We oughta get a move on.” Cid eyed the clock. “Yuffie prolly wonderin’ what the fuck’s takin’ us so long.”

“Ah... I have to tell her.” Vincent frowned at the tabletop.

“Would ya rather wait?”

“...Can we get everyone in one place and make a single announcement? It would be far less effort on my part.”

Cid snorted, grinning. “Sure, but that means havin’ to deal with a _party_ , and everyone at once.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking forward on his toes and bending towards Vincent. “Ya sure that’s what ya want?”

“I could always announce it and leave.”

“And leave me to suffer alone?! Fuckin’ rude.”

Vincent sized Cid up, head to toe and back up again. “I could carry you. Make our escape across the rooftops...”

“Can ya outrun _everyone_?”

“Perhaps not Nanaki, but he is easily reasoned with, unlike the rest of the madmen we call friends.” Vincent shook his head oh so slow and despairingly, exhaling deeply. “If my sins are forgiven, then my rewards look more a punishment than a paradise.”

“Holy shit, c’mon, ya over dramatic bastard.” Cid snagged Vincent by the cape and pulled. “We got shit to do besides waxin’ poetic.”

Together, they pulled their boots on and headed out into the warm morning sun. Both of them spent several minutes squinting at the too bright sunlight as they crossed the yard and got into the truck. Cid laid his cheek against the steering wheel, blinking sunspots away. Vincent huddled in on himself, hiding behind his hair.

“Terrible fuckin’ idea, let’s go back to bed.”

“Alright.” Vincent reached for the door handle.

“Don’t ya fuckin’ dare.”

Sighing, Vincent dropped his hand into his lap and slouched down. Cid rolled his eyes, starting the truck, and pulled out into the road. He drove to the inn, where Yuffie jumped impatiently from foot to foot on the front steps.

“You’re late!” she accused when they got out. “What took you so long?!”

“Relax, we ain’t goin’ anywhere today.”

“Wh--huh?”

Cait Sith climbed up onto the stone railing, gloved hands on its hips. The mechanical cat walked down to the lowest end, peering up at the two men. “What’s all this, then?”

“We’re goin’ to Gongaga tomorrow.” Cid pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapping one out into his palm. “But I ain’t goin’ in blind, so you two are on research. Vince and I got shit we need to take care of before we take off.”

“Like what?” Yuffie asked, pointing at them. “This isn’t an excuse for you two to nap and... and... do whatever it is weird old men do, is it?”

It was Vincent who answered, stepping between Yuffie and Cid. “Yuffie. No.”

Just two words, and she shut her mouth, giving Vincent some serious stink eye.

“Did you get cellphones yet?” Cait Sith asked.

Vincent turned so that his side was presented to Cid. He tilted his head, silently surrendering the responsibility of the conversation as easily as he’d taken it.

“Nah-uh. We’re goin’ now, if ya two ain’t got anymore objections.”

The cat bobbed its head. “Off with you. We’ll get info together. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

Cid shook his head, putting his cigarette between his lips. He bent, cupping his hand around the tip, and lit up with soft rasp of the lighter. After the first inhale, he waved his hand, trailing smoke. “Just whatever the latest news is, what the fuckin’ mood is over there.” He pointed with the two fingers holding the cigarette. “Get yer ass ready to mingle with the locals, girl.”

“Is this cuz I’m the only woman present?!”

“Ain’t ya a ninja? Stealth and infiltration and all that shit?”

With her mouth open in a wide o-shape, Yuffie resembled an angry goldfish. The irritation blew out of her with a raspberry noise. “Of course! This’ll be a _cinch_! Those villagers will never see me coming!”

“Good. The WRO ain’t found shit and that’s goddamn weird, ain’t it?”

Yuffie and Cait Sith looked at each other, comprehension coming slowly. The cat got it first, throwing a pointer finger into the air. “Oh, a reactor near a place with every reason to object!”

“Oh!!” Yuffie twirled and raced up the steps. She paused at the door, waving at Vincent and Cid. “Meet up for dinner tonight!! We’ll have _tons_ of intel ready!”

Then she was gone, with Cait Sith fast on her heels.

Feeling a little like a hurricane had blown through, Cid didn’t immediately move, puffing at his cigarette while blinking slowly. He eyed Vincent, who just shrugged at him and held a claw out for the cigarette. After a single drag, he returned it and went around to the passenger side of the truck to get in.

Cid finished his smoke and stamped the butt out in the public ashtray by the inn’s door, then got in the truck to drive them to their next destination: the little cellphone shop down the street. It was a hole in the wall with a neon sign and several colorful flyers that promised such things as _NO! two year contracts_ and _UNlimited data_ and _phone upgrades ANYBODY can afford_. Vincent looked at it with the same revulsion he’d shown when they first went to Gold Saucer all those years ago. Almost plaintive, he turned his gaze to Cid, but found no mercy there.

Like most people in Rocket Town, the owner knew Cid. “Captain!” she sing-songed. “Did ya bring yer brick in to extend its life so’more?” She was a grey-haired lady behind huge, red glasses, wearing a mishmash of color and patterns that had no business being in the same room.

Just looking at her gave Cid a headache. Vincent didn’t seem to be faring much better.

“Lost the damn thing, fuck my luck.”

“Oh nooo!” She did not sound appropriately upset. In fact, her smile grew wider, showing the gleam of silver bridges in the back of her mouth. “Then I s’pose... it’s time...” She brandished a handful of flyers. “For an upgrade!!”

Cid rubbed at his forehead. Well used to Janie’s antics, he knew he had to avoid getting sucked into shop talk. He looked around the room, all of the models on display, and spotted a phone like Tifa’s and Shera’s. If the two most sensible women he knew used it, then it _had_ to be decent.

He pointed it out. “Two of them.”

“Whoa! Alright, Captain!” She abandoned her flyers and came bustling around to the display to check the model number. “So what hard drive size? 16, 32, 64? Aaan’ what colors? We’ve got RoseMetal, SkyDrop, Leafage, Void Dreams, Bloody Requiem, an’ of course the standard black, white, or grey.”

“Just... give us the best version.” Cid shrugged, pulling his wallet out. “I don’t give a shit ‘bout color, so long as it ain’t flashy. You, Vince?”

“...Red.”

“Oooh,” Janie crooned. “Bloody Requiem for tall, dark, an’ mysterious!” She flounced behind her counter and bent to rifle through the boxes. “Captain, ya should haaaave SkyDrop!” She popped up a minute later, smacking two boxes down on the counter, one with a red phone on its cover, the other with a blue. “So how d’ya wanna pay? We have payment plans, or--”

Cid laid one of the prepaid cards on the counter in front of her. The WRO logo emblazoned on the front spoke volumes, particularly with the gold embossed ShinRa emblem in the corner. Janie took it like he’d given her the key to untold riches and rang them up, humming the Gold Saucer theme.

“So, ya have an account with us already, Captain, an’ I can get yer phone to redownload all the goodies from your last _unfortunate_ disaster, includin’ yer saved contacts and suchlike!!”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

She beamed, opening the phone up, and got to work. Occasionally, she passed it over for him to punch in his login details or set up pin numbers or whatever, but soon, he had a phone that held more processing power than most of the computers he worked with on complex aeronautical machines. The first thing he did was change Vincent’s ringtone, humming the numbers under his breath.

Janie turned her attention to Vincent while Cid was occupied. “As for ya, mister...?”

“Vincent Valentine.”

“Hm, hm, hm...” Janie tapped at her computer, squinting. “Oh-hoh, lucky, ya under the same service--! Oh? But yer plan is _way_ better’n the Captain’s. Are ya somebody important?”

“No.”

Cid shot Vincent a look, brows up. “Elena spoilin’ ya?”

“Probably.”

“Well, I _s’pose_ it’s none my business what kinda fancy men ya runnin’ ‘round with, Captain,” Janie said, in the tones of one who very much wanted to know so she could take it down to her local hair salon to share with the girls.

“Sure as fuck ain’t. Set the man up, we got places to be.”

Pouting, but not one to slack off on the job, she walked Vincent through the same process of data recovery and setup.

Watching Vincent hen peck at the touch screen, Cid remembered an important addition. “Oh, yeah, give us some protectors and that glass shit.”

“Oh, sure, what kind ya want?”

“Heavy duty shit that can survive a behemoth.”

“Umm, let me think...” Sucking on her lip, Janie continued helping Vincent, and then abruptly sprang up and vanished into the back room. She came back a few minutes later with two thick, transparent cases and a couple of glass screen covers. “These,” she said, waving them in the air, “are _bullet-proof_ , waterproof, aaaan’ guaranteed to shield ‘gainst most minor materia, with a _lifetime warranty_.”

“Alright, fine, ring ‘em up and put ‘em on.” Cid put his new phone on the counter, as well as the card.

Janie cheerfully did as asked, and finally finished setting Vincent’s phone up, too. She saw them out the door with very enthusiastic waving. “Come back soon, Captain!!”

The minute the truck doors were shut, Cid said, “I gotta headache. You?”

“Hm.” Vincent set his head against the passenger window, eyes closed. “...What else do we have to do?”

“For starters--” Cid started the truck up and pulled out into the street. “--I gotta hit the pharmacy. Ya can wait in the car, if ya want.”

“Alright.”

“And then I gotta go to a guy I know to get tags made.”

Vincent opened one eye, peering down at the tags jingling against Cid’s chest. He relaxed back into his seat, no longer drooping pathetically against the window.

“After _that_ , we’re s’posed to let our friends know we’re not dead and we got phones so they can quit bitchin’.” Cid parked in front of the pharmacy, its familiar faded, wooden sign showing a trio of bottled potions in red, blue, and green. “But I ain’t in any hurry, so if ya want, we can get somethin’ to eat and go home.”

“I would like that.”

“‘Kay. Back in a min.”

His trip into the pharmacy was blessedly quieter and quicker than the phone shop. He picked up his prescriptions, grabbed a couple trashy paperbacks he thought Vincent might enjoy, laid claim to a bag of suckers, and after some deliberation, added lube and two sizes of condoms to the pile. The pharmacist only gave him a faintly amused look.

Vincent’s inspection of the bag later, once they were back on the road, was rather more than amused. “Angling for something, Chief?”

“Yeah, gimme one of them suckers,” Cid retorted.


	23. show me how

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to canon, Cid manifested into being as a rage-filled 26 year old with a rocket. We know nothing about him before that. So I... made some stuff up because we're still in fluff town anyway. Sorry if original NPCs aren't your thing.

At the far side of town, as far from the airport as one could get without being off the grid, a ramshackle house sprawled out in front of a couple of sheds and an acre of gently rusting scrap metal. Cid pulled into the gravel driveway and honked.

"This... looks like somewhere _you'd_ live," Vincent said.

Cid turned a million megawatt smile at the other man, just as the front porch door creaked open. The owner of the house stood in the doorway, squinting beneath a broad, tattered straw hat, and then waved, big and wide.

Furtively, Vincent looked between that smile and the figure waiting on them to get out of the truck. He didn't even have to see the resemblance up close to realize:

"You... have relatives."

"Yeah.” Cid opened his door and got out, but didn’t close it yet, leaning against the seat to peer up at Vincent. “C'mon."

“ _Cid_.” The gold claws motioned through the air, indicating the gravity of the situation. “Aside from Yuffie, does anyone else in AVALANCHE have relatives? That aren’t adopted.”

“Iunno. Never asked Reeve. You?”

The person waiting on them shouted, “Oi, Cid, ya comin’ in?!”

With his supernatural speed, Vincent faced that direction, hand against the holster of his gun. He didn’t draw it, giving the impression of one merely seeking the reassurance that he was still armed and dangerous.

Cid waved at his relative. “Be in a sec!!” After she’d stumped back indoors, the screen door banging behind her, Cid grimaced at Vincent. “Ya not gonna shoot my aunt, are ya?”

“I’m thinking about shooting _you_ ,” Vincent replied, with zero inflection.

“Babe, I can think of only one piece I’d let ya shoot me with.”

His lecherous grin faded only a little when Cid found himself staring down the length of three barrels a second later. Vincent’s hand held the gun steadily, but his head was down, hair and claw in his face.

Several long, slow, calming breaths, Vincent said, “This is... a little much. A little fast.”

“Okay, starshine.” Cid held his hands up in surrender. “Ya can stay put, I’ll go get the tags made.”

The barrel of the gun lowered a fraction. Vincent peered at Cid from between his talons. Somehow, he’d managed not to tear himself up; when he dropped his gauntlet into his lap, his face was unblemished. Maybe he’d only held the hand in front of his face and Cid’s viewing angle made it look otherwise.

“No. I need a minute.”

And then Vincent did something unthinkable. He spun his gun in his hand, doing one of his flashy little flourishes, except instead of stowing it in its holster, he held the grip out to Cid, gaze averted. Cid stared, dumbfounded. With a slightly shaky hand, he accepted the weapon, and then had to grab it in both hands because it was heavier than it looked.

“Shit, Vince...”

“I would rather not shoot your family.” He murmured something about in-laws, muffled in his cape.

“Okay.” Cid looked around inside the truck.

The chances of anything happening to the gun out here, on his aunt’s property, were next to nil, but being entrusted with Cerberus was nothing to sniff at. Vincent never went anywhere unarmed, not even to bed. Hell, he even took the thing into the baths.

“Hey, uh, ya want me to stow it?”

The snap of buckles answered him. Vincent handed over the holster, and then, after seeing the gun tucked into it, he turned away and got out of the truck to stand and look out over the junk heap.

Cid ran his fingers over the fine leather tooling along the edges of the holster. He thought about taking the gun with them, but knowing his aunt’s home as he did, he thought it best not to give a startled Vincent any temptation. Even mako induced strength couldn’t hope to match Vincent’s superior training and monstrous enhancements in a fight or flight situation. 

Hefting the gun, Cid climbed into the back of the truck long enough to put the gun in the box behind the back seats. On a whim, he pulled his phone out and snapped a few pictures of the gun, especially the keychain hanging off of it, before locking the box up. He then hopped out of the truck. After slamming all the doors shut and ensuring they locked, he circled around to the passenger side.

“Nothin’ gonna happen here, but--“ Cid wiggled his keys at Vincent. “I’d sure as shit feel better not makin’ ya work for it if somethin’ does.”

Vincent curled his gloved fingers over the keys and Cid’s hand, lingering. Then he took them, squirreling them away wherever he hid small belongings, as he never seemed to use pockets like an ordinary person.

“Is this… going to be okay with your family?”

Cid planted his fists on his hips, smiling crookedly. “I’ve brought boyfriends home before, Vince.”

“Really?”

“Hey, just cuz we look country don’t mean we’re bigots!”

Vincent stepped closer, though not close enough that Cid’s sainted aunt, too obviously watching them through the blinds, could claim witness to anything less than platonic. “My father would have flayed me alive if he’d ever found out about any of my dalliances, especially those with men.” Tucking his chin, Vincent studied Cid’s face. “Not an uncommon mindset back then.”

“Thank fuck that ain’t the norm now,” Cid said. “There’s always gonna be assholes, but yer safe with my kin. This town wouldn’t exist without my rocket, so anyone that wants to talk shit can get fucked.”

“Eloquent as ever.” Vincent glanced sidelong at the rattle of blinds dropping into place. “As long as this won’t cause trouble for you, I will follow your lead.”

Cid closed the distance, pulling Vincent down to press their foreheads together. He smiled, rubbing his thumb against the back of Vincent’s neck. “C’mon then, before my aunt comes out to drag us in by the ears.”

Crossing the yard, Cid pulled the porch door open, listening to the familiar creak of rusty hinges. He looked back; Vincent hesitated in the shadow of the truck, steeling himself, and then moved to follow. Cid knocked twice on the door before opening it and holding both doors open for Vincent to enter. He eased the screen door shut behind them, rather than let it slam.

“‘Bout time,” his aunt said. “Done catchin’ flies?”

“Sorry, auntie.”

“Well, c’mon in here, I got tea.” She waved them through the living room to the kitchen, where a big pitcher of iced tea and a stack of plastic cups sat waiting.

She’d taken her hat off, left on the back of her favorite armchair in the living room. Her boots were off, too, left by the front door. Cid kicked his own off, and Vincent did the same. Only then did they pad through the living room, past worn down and well-loved furniture, past walls covered in photographs.

“Vincent Valentine, as I live an’ breathe,” she said, when he’d stepped into the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. “Way Cid talks ‘bout ya, I expected to meet ya sooner’n this.”

“I’m afraid Highwind never mentioned you, miss...?”

“ _Cid Highwind_ , ya never tol’ nobody ‘bout me?!”

“Aw, hell,” Cid muttered, sliding into one of the wobbly kitchen chairs. “I didn’t want our enemies to find ya!”

“Hmph, a likely story!” As she spun away from Cid, her long, loose braid swung and thumped against her back. It was streaked with more silver than blonde at her age, but that only made her look more dignified. “I’m Elizabeth Highwind, aunt of this ungrateful lout.” She stuck her hand out to Vincent. “Most call me Betty.”

Gingerly, Vincent took her hand, and then looked faintly bemused at her firm handshake. “A pleasure.”

“Alright, that’s enough of the social niceties,” Betty said, clapping Vincent on the shoulder before moving away. “Have some tea while I tear this boy a new one.” She pointed a finger in Cid’s face. “Gone without a word for over a month! I ain’t raised ya to be like this, so why the hell ya keep doin’ it?”

Vincent took the chair next to Cid, but the loud scrape of him shifting further out of the way indicated his unwillingness to be in the line of fire on behalf of Cid. He watched the two of them going back and forth like watching a train wreck, all while getting a cup and pouring tea for himself.

“Ain’t my damn fault, auntie!” Cid protested. “I was savin’ the world again, and shit happened!”

“Shit happened?? _What_ happened? Ya come back here with ya damn eyes glowin’, I’m gonna need to know more’n that!!”

“I don’t wanna worry ya.”

“Too damn late for that, boy.” Betty finally took a seat, on the other side of Cid. She pressed her hand to his knee, peering up into his face. “So ya better spill.”

Cid shifted, squirming some, and groaned. “Alright, dammit.” He dropped his hand over hers. “There’s people tryna start up that mako shit again.” At her gasp, he nodded. “Me and Vince were lookin’ into it, and I fell in.”

Betty laid both hands on either side of his face, thumbs under his eyes. “Mako...? Oh, _hon_.” Sagging, head down, her shoulders shook.

“Our friends found me,” Cid said, gentle. “I’m fine.” He pulled her into a hug, holding tight until her trembling subsided. “I ain’t been cut open or nothin’. Not sick. I’m fine.”

“Ya _better_ be,” she said, harshly, and pushed away to swipe at her face. “Can’t afford losin’ nobody else.”

“Ya won’t,” Cid promised.

Silent, Vincent set two more filled cups of tea out in front of each Highwind. He pressed his knee against Cid’s as he did it.

Betty smiled. “Thank ya, dear. Sorry ya had to listen to an old woman’s whimperin’.”

“No. It was my intrusion and my failure. I should have moved faster to catch him during the fall.”

Cid shook his head, sharp. “Nah-uh, wasn’t yer fault.”

“Appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Valentine.” Betty took a sip of her tea and smacked her lips. “Now... I don’t reckon ya visitin’ for my sake.”

“Where’s Abby and Darrel? Got a lil job.” Cid rubbed at the side of his neck. “And somethin’ to tell the whole family.”

“Issat so? They’re out back, workin’.”

“I’ll go--”

“Nawp,” Betty got to her feet. “Y’all guests. I’ll get ‘em.”

She patted Cid on the shoulder, then she shuffled to the back door, stepping into boots. The door slammed on her departure, and the sound of excited dog barking could be heard.

“Abby and Darrel?” Vincent asked in the quiet that followed.

“My cousins.” Cid pointed towards the family photographs lining the walls. “Go ahead and have a gawk if ya want. Aunt Betty’ll prolly yak yer ear off sooner or later.”

Vincent eyed Cid for a moment, then stood. “Alright.”

“Oldest stuff’s above the mantle.”

Watching Vincent Valentine study family photographs in his aunt’s living room was a little surreal. Cid drank his tea and refrained from commenting.

The photos above the mantle were old black and white shots, starting with a single picture of his aunt and father when they were less than ten years old. They were on the beach, Betty in her mother’s arms and Cid’s father holding a bucket of shells up proudly.

Then came sepia-tones shots of his aunt’s wedding, baby photos of Darrel and his twin and Abby. A full family photo in front of their house overlooking the ocean, all of them happy. Next to that, she had a picture of seven year old Cid and his parents. He had a battered rocket in his hands, a successful launch that had crashed into a neighbor’s tree and been rescued by his parents.

As the photos gained color, the Highwinds lost numbers. The first absence was his aunt’s husband. Cid’s parents followed not long after, leaving him somber and distant at the edge of his aunt’s family gatherings.

Little by little, he brightened up, filling the gaps in their family with mischief. Shots of the four kids playing and growing older, always near the ocean, brown skinned and pale haired. The twins starting their own business fixing cars, and then standing side by side in military uniforms, the last time they were seen together. Abby and Cid graduating with honors. Abby smiling, grease on her cheek, as she worked in the garage while her brothers went to war.

And then Cid, seventeen years old and in dragoon regalia, spear on his shoulder. Smiling because he was going to end the war and come home to fly the first rocket to the moon.

A gap in which the three boys were absent—nine long years, with nothing but a single photo of Betty and Abby in their best, both of them grim.

Cid came back first, bags under his eyes, and a grant to build his rockets in his hands. Darrel followed shortly after, without his twin, crying as he hugged aunt Betty. Not long after, the family moved from Junon, before the shadow of ShinRa could totally ruin the beaches, and went to Rocket Town, then nothing more than a ShinRa outpost. Tents and dingy concrete buildings in a dusty clearing at the base of the launchpad. Over time it grew, becoming a town, starting with his aunt’s house, which they all stood in front of, smiling because they were alive and the rocket was good business.

From there, shots and newspaper clippings of the rocket, all the way to its downfall. Cid became distant and irritable in photos, usually shadowed by Shera.

Abby and Darrel receiving rewards for their business, salvaging scrap metal and forging the parts needed for all kinds of machines. They were the ones to produce the rocket’s siding, and the failure had no impact on them.

Vincent stopped at the edge of the living room, where the photos trailed onto the other side of the room. He knew the story from there—everything that happened during the crisis, and everything that followed. The only things he didn’t know were the little family moments in between. Sandwiched between articles discussing the saviors of the world, Abby’s wedding photos, shots of her daughter, and of usually grim Darrel twirling the little girl in the air, laughing like he’d never lost his other half.

“I believe Betty has Tifa beat on sentimental photography,” Vincent said, returning to his seat. “...Is she going to want to add us?”

“Prolly.” Cid laid his arm on the back of his chair, twisting around to fully face Vincent. “That gonna be a problem, starshine?”

“I’ll try not to be too ghastly.”

Cid grinned, and would have said more, but the back door flung open. Betty stumped in, leaning against the wall to pull her boots off. She flattened herself against it as a five year old barreled by.

“Uncle Ciiiiid!!” Kat yelled, and slid to a stop to stare at the stranger between herself and her beloved uncle. Unlike the rest of her relatives, her hair was black, but she had the blue eyes of a Highwind, which were getting larger by the second.

“Hey, Kat. Say hi to my friend, Vincent.”

“H-hi...”

“Hello.”

Greetings done, the girl skirted around to climb into Cid’s lap. He curled an arm around her waist to steady her, and made no protest when she stole his tea.

In the background, Betty walked over to the table to sit, and Abby and Darrel came in, shedding boots and bustling over the sink to scrub their hands. Unlike her mother, Abby was tall and thin, all wiry muscle with square shoulders. Darrel was shorter and softer, with thin graying hair and unshaven scruff on his cheeks.

“Long time no see, cos,” Abby said. “Thought we’d seen the last of ya.” She finally looked over after finishing washing up. “Woah, what happened to yer eyes?”

“Didn’t want Vince to feel like the odd one out.” Cid shrugged.

“So _this_ is Vincent Valentine.” Darrel dried his hands on a dish rag, then marched over to stick his left hand out. “Darrel. That's Abby.”

“A pleasure.” Vincent lifted his gauntlet, flexed the claws, then dropped it back into his lap.

“Shit.” Darrel held up his other hand, which lacked half a thumb and the last two fingers. “Nevermind, huh?”

“Siddown, siddown,” Betty demanded, waving to the empty chairs. “Cid’s got somethin’ to tell us.”

After her mother sat down, Kat scooted from lap to lap, clambering over Betty to settle into Abby’s lap instead. Darrel sat next to Vincent, leaving his twin’s chair empty, like always.

“Uhhh, so.” Cid scratched the side of his cheek, all too aware of all eyes on him. He glanced at Vincent, finding comfort in the steady red eyes gazing back. “Vince and I... are gettin’ married.”

Abby sucked in a sharp breath, Kat hooted, “Wedding!”, and Darrel gaped at them. Neither adult looked disgusted, just surprised.

“Oh, honey!!” Betty hooked her arm around Cid’s neck, yanking him down into a crushing hug, her hands reaching to snag the edge of Vincent’s cloak as he was too far away for more.

Cid wheezed, hugging back with one arm. He sought out Vincent’s knee with the other, giving a weak squeeze. Vincent patted at the back of his hand, so Cid twisted his wrist and caught gloved fingers in his own.

“When abouts, do yanno?” Abby asked, over Betty’s muffled joyful tears and Kat’s sing-songing about kissing in trees.

“Nothin’ set yet.” Cid patted at his aunt’s back, consoling and awkward. “Uh, came over to have ya make our engagement stuff.” The word engagement set Betty off into a fresh wave of tears.

Darrel muttered, “Never made no rings.”

“Not rings. Dog tags.”

“Ya a military man, Mr. Valentine?” Abby asked.

“Former Turk.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Darrel and Abby exchanged looks, having one of their silent conversations done almost entirely through body language. Meanwhile, Betty finally released Cid, smoothing her hands over his damp shirt with muttered apologies and a wobbly smile.

“I’m very happy for ya.” She craned up to peer over Cid’s shoulder. “For ya both. Ya take care of each other, hear? And tell us when, for goodness’s sake. I don’t wanna find I missed my boy’s wedding!!”

“Yes’m,” Cid said, meekly, as he sat up, shifting his grip on Vincent’s hands to fit their palms more comfortably together.

Vincent inclined his head. “Of course, ma’am.” He squeezed at Cid’s hand.

“Not gonna want no run of the mill steel or nothin’,” Abby mused. “Not for what’s s’posed to be special.”

“Got a preference?” Darrel asked, squinting between Cid and Vincent.

At Cid’s quiet look of askance, Vincent shrugged. “It will need to be durable, if Cid is going to continue his habit of needing to be rescued.”

Cid huffed, “Hey!” over his family’s laughter. “Ain’t happened _that_ often.”

When their mirth died down and Kat had been shushed with her own cup of tea, Cid pulled his phone out, pulling up the picture of Vincent’s keychain. He set it on the table and slid it over.

“I was thinkin’... Can ya put this on one with Vincent’s info? In some kinda yellow matchin’ his arm.”

Vincent watched Cid closely, expression blank but for the heat in his eyes. His grip went slack, but he didn’t pull away. It was hard to know if he approved.

“What’s it made of?” Abby wondered, while Darrel studied the picture.

“Dunno. Prolly some fucked up experimental shit. Ain’t there somethin’ similar in color that ain’t gold?”

“Muntz,” Darrel said. He slid the phone towards Abby.

Abby nodded. “Sure, that’d do, if we seal it proper. Otherwise these fools’ll get poisoned from wearin’ it against their skin.” She passed Kat over to Betty, who kept the girl occupied with a silent game of patty cake.

“Doable.” Darrel shrugged a shoulder. “What else?”

Vincent spoke before Cid could, never taking his gaze off their hands. “Replicate Cid’s tag in something silver. His choice on the design.”

Cid grinned, jostling their knees together. It didn’t feel quite so one-sided a plan now, but more like an exchange. Like it should. “How ‘bout the silhouette of the original Highwind?”

“Alright.” Abby got her own phone out, sending herself the photo from Cid’s. She opened a notepad app and typed up the details. “Assumin’ three copies of each design so ya can use ‘em as actual tags...”

“When ya want ‘em?” Darrel asked.

“Gonna needa know what text is goin’ on, too,” Abby added.

“We’re headin’ back out for work tomorrow. Iunno if ya can work that fast, but at the least, I want a test print for Vince.” Cid snagged his phone, sending the necessary information through text to Abby. He passed it over for Vincent to add his preferences, including his ID, since Cid didn’t know it.

After studying the text messages, the two cousins had another silent exchange, then Darrel got up and stumped out the back door without another word.

Abby smiled, stowing her phone. “We can get it done, if ya ain’t leavin’ at the crack of dawn.”

“Shouldn’t be.”

“Good. See ya tomorrow, cos. Thanks fer visitin’, Mr. Valentine.” Abby waggled her fingers and took a glass of tea with her as she left.

“Are you boys stayin’ for dinner?” Betty asked, chin resting atop Kat’s head.

“Sorry, auntie, got previous plans.”

“Mm-hmm, figures. Ya two c’mon ‘round and have dinner with the family soon, alright?”

“Yes’m.”

Hugs were exchanged; even Vincent submitted to Betty’s grip, touching her shoulder like he was afraid he’d break her. And then, finally, they were released into the afternoon sun, free to do anything they liked until dinner.

“You promised me food,” Vincent said, the minute they were in the truck and on the road again. “And then I want to sleep forever.”

“Can’t do forever, but sure.”

Cid made a stop at his favorite sandwich shop, getting two of the specials—spicy meatball subs and freshly fried potato chips, with complimentary bottled sodas. While he was inside, Vincent reclaimed his gun. Cid shrugged, taking the keys back in exchange for passing over the bag of food.

Then he drove to his apartment, where they found that housekeeping hadn’t been in to dust in a while. While Vincent made use of the bathroom, Cid opened windows and changed the bedding.

“This is real,” Vincent said, leaning in the bedroom doorway with his arms folded. He held his cape rolled up under his right arm, and his belts loose between his fingers. “Other people know about us now... It can’t be taken back.”

“Sure it could, if ya start not feelin’ like it anymore.” Cid sat on the end of the bed, hands on his thighs. “Just cuz I asked ya to marry and subjected ya to my relatives don’t mean ya can’t back out.”

“I would not want to.”

“Me either.”

Vincent wandered over to the bed, dropping his things on the floor near the bedside table. He undid the gun holster on his leg and laid the weapon on the pillows.

“Ya wanna eat in here?” Cid asked.

“No, we’ll make a mess.”

“Dunno what _your_ bed’s for, but mine’s all ‘bout bein’ messed up.”

Vincent snorted, and left the room. Cid had no choice but to follow. They ate their lunches quickly, neither speaking. Leftovers got stowed in the fridge and they washed their hands and faces at the kitchen sink. Once cleaned up, Vincent pulled Cid back into the bedroom, urging him into the bed. He curled around Cid, hand over his heart, tags clutched tight.

“Gonna be able to do the same soon, starshine,” Cid murmured.

“Mhm. I’m going to sleep, Highwind.”


	24. a long way to go

“Cid.”

“Hmm?”

“We need to get up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“And you think I do? Your phone, Cid, it won’t stop _flashing_.”

With a groan, Cid cracked one eye open and saw that, yes, his phone was indeed flashing. He squeezed his eyes shut, curling up against the offending light show flickering against his eyelids. When he felt slightly less disoriented and groggy, he patted at the bed, feeling his way towards the edge, to the bedside table where their phones sat side by side.

“ _Why’d_ I do this to us?” he complained, swiping to disable the alarm. He brought the phone close to his face and saw that it was nearing 1800. The time seemed significant somehow. He let his arm drop, phone face down on the bedspread, and laid there in blessed darkness. “...Were we s’posed to do somethin’?”

The loud, shrill tones of a default ringtone startled them both. Vincent rolled away, up onto his knees, gun in hand in the blink of an eye. Cid groaned again, flailing and making a grab at Vincent’s phone before it got shot to pieces. He mashed the answer button without checking who it was.

“Vincent!!” Yuffie yelled, and Cid yanked the phone away from his ear. “When do you guys wanna meet up for dinner? I’m hungry now, just so you know!”

“Yuffie,” Vincent said, dropping his forehead against Cid’s side. Without lifting his head, he laid the gun down against Cid’s belly and accepted the phone with great reluctance. He listened to Yuffie’s shouting on the other end of the line in silence, the phone half-turned away from his ear.

“That girl ain’t got no damn volume control,” Cid complained.

A muffled exclamation on the other side. Vincent pointed out the obvious in a flat, tired tone, “She heard that.”

“Ugh, fuckin’ shoot me now. What’s she wanna eat?”

Vincent covered the mouthpiece. “Shooting you now would mean I couldn’t become a wealthy widower…”

“Can’t anyway, I signed it all away, fucker.”

Vincent sighed, deeply aggrieved. On the other end of the line, Yuffie was yelling again, probably annoyed at being ignored. “Yuffie,” he said, cutting her tirade off. “Cid wants to know what you would like to eat.” Her answer went on for far longer than necessary. She was still talking when Vincent informed Cid, “I don’t think she’s feeling picky.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Cid sat up with some reluctance, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Tell her to meet us at Mama’s downtown.” He wasn’t at all surprised when Vincent held the phone out to him instead of doing the social labor. Cid rolled his eyes, taking it, and continued, “Big red sign. Dress up a lil, lose the booty shorts. Ain’t upscale or nothin’, but it’s a family place.”

“What’s wrong with my shorts?! Sexist!!”

“How’s it fuckin’ sexist when they ain’t even let _me_ wear tanks?!”

“That’s just common sense. Nobody wants to see your gross old man boobs.”

“Girl, I will fuckin’ turn off this goddamn phone and go back to bed and leave ya to _starve_ , so fuckin’ help me.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Yuffie shot back. “I’ve got sweet _intel_ about Gongaga!”

“Whatever. Just fuckin’ be there.” Cid hung up, and then helped himself to changing the volume of Vincent’s ringtone. He dropped the phone and pulled at the collar of his shirt, looking down at his chest. “Fuckin’ kids, I’m not that damn old...”

Vincent patted his chest, below the rib and off-center. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.” And then he was gone, leaving Cid to gape at the closed bathroom door between them.

“Way to make yer man feel real good ‘bout his body, Vince!”

While Vincent made use of the facilities, Cid got out of bed and into clean clothes. He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink. His phone buzzed from the bed, drawing him back to see what the hell Yuffie wanted _now_.

Only it wasn’t Yuffie.

Cid blinked down at Abby’s number, then grinned on seeing the text message. {all done, cos. come pickup when u rdy}

The bathroom door opened, revealing Vincent with his hair up again, his sleeve rolled up to the elbow and his hand bare. He wore the same dreary black clothes he’d napped in, yet he looked dressed up with minimal effort.

“Hey, good lookin’.” Cid held the phone towards Vincent, turned so he could read the text. “How much ya think Yuffie’ll complain if we make her wait?”

“I don’t particularly care,” Vincent answered. He stepped close to Cid, touching fingertips to his pulse. “She can wait.”

Smiling, Cid caught Vincent by the wrist and pulled his hand up to press a kiss against the palm. “Too bad it ain’t gonna be just you and me tonight.”

“Hmm. Afterwards.” Vincent curled his fingers against Cid’s cheek, then pushed up through his hair to the back of his head. He bent to rest their foreheads together. “Your tub is still ruined,” he said, apropos nothing.

“Uh... Sorry?”

“What do you think might happen if we are feeling particularly amorous, Highwind?”

“ _Oh_.” Cid found himself watching Vincent’s mouth with far more attention than strictly necessary. “Are ya propositionin’ me?”

Vincent moved away, collecting his things from on and around the bed. “That entirely depends on my ability to be clean afterwards.” He paused, snapping his gun holster in place, and raised a brow at Cid. “What do you intend to do about it?”

“I’m gonna--”

Vincent’s phone ringing interrupted him. Both men looked to the thing laying on the bed for several moments. Then Vincent sighed, picking it up, and answered with, “Yuffie.” A pause, in which he listened. “No. Go ahead and start without us. We’ll be late.” He hung up as her voice began to rise in consternation, and stowed the phone inside his shirt. “Go on, I believe you were about to answer me...”

“Nah-uh, think I’ll keep ya in suspense, starshine.”

“ _Cid_.”

Cid didn’t give in. He threw together a duffle bag of things they might want, not only later that night but for the trip to Gongaga. Then he herded Vincent out the door, and locked up.

Vincent, for his part, gave up, falling quiet but remaining cooperative, following Cid down to the parking lot and getting into the passenger seat without preamble. His lack of pestering for answers was both a relief and an annoyance.

“Ya ain’t curious?” he asked, once they were on the road, driving towards his family’s home.

“I trust you won’t disappoint.”

“No pressure, huh.”

“There is no expectation of a perfect performance, Highwind. Be exactly as you have always been, reckless and overconfident, and I will be there even when you fall.”

“Got a hell of a way of puttin’ things, Vince. Real confidence booster.”

“If you minded, you would have backed off long ago.”

“I’m a sucker for a pretty face and a sharp bite.”

Vincent actually snapped his teeth together audibly, making Cid bark a short laugh.

They arrived at the Highwind lot a minute or two later. The truck’s high beams lit up the side of the house as Cid pulled into the driveway, alerting the family of visitors without the need for honking. He shut the vehicle off and climbed out just as the front door opened, revealing Abby.

“Heya, c’mon in,” she hollered, before ducking back inside.

“Ya wanna come in?” Cid asked Vincent, hand resting against the side of the truck door in preparation for shutting it.

“Should I not?”

“‘It’s up to ya is all.”

With a curt nod, Vincent got out. He strode across the yard, beating Cid to the house, but waited to be let in. Inside, all but Kat were gathered in the living room, watching the two enter with something like expectance. Even Abby’s husband, a mousey man named Jake, was there, though aside from a brief wave, he sat back to mind his own business.

“Thought ya boys had dinner plans,” Betty teased, rising from her chair.

“Sure do. Makin’ ‘em wait ‘cuz this is important.”

“Such a rude boy I’ve raised!”

Despite her words, Betty came over to hug Cid. She eyed Vincent expectantly after, but when he made no move to submit to hugs, she settled on a handshake, one that lasted long enough to make him uncomfortable. Betty smiled brightly and backed off, letting Darrel come forward to hand over a slim wood box, the kind that used to hold cigars. The lid had a busty lady draped over a curly red logo that read _Lucky Ladies_.

“Hey!” Cid laughed. “Lady Luck bringin’ us the goods.”

“Sorry, ain’t had anything fancy,” Darrel muttered.

Vincent looked from the box to Cid’s grinning face. “I reserve the right to shoot you if any of your _ladies_ are involved in the rest of this ordeal.”

Over the startled gasps and uncertain chuckles of his family, Cid laid his hand over his heart. “Ya wound me! Denyin’ me my ladies like that... They’re what brought ya to me, after all.”

“What.”

Cid flicked the cigar box open, glancing towards his family as he explained, “Yeah, see, those numbskulls I call friends came lookin’ for the _Tiny Bronco_ , and as y’all know, it had the sweetest lil Lady Luck...”

“Weren’t very lucky,” Abby pointed out, “With how many theft attempts got made on that thing.”

“Not _her_ fault,” Cid grumbled.

Vincent leaned over to inspect the contents of the cigar box with him. Darrel and Abby had padded the bottom with clean rags, for lack of anything proper. Nestled on top were two silver chains, each with three flat discs attached. One had two gold discs and one silver and the other had the opposite. Their names, old ShinRa IDs, phone numbers, and personal icon were etched on them.

Vincent picked up the one with double silver tags, holding it up so that it spun and glinted in the light. He studied it, then peered past it to watch Cid.

“Damn nice work,” Cid declared. “I’m impressed, y’all did that quick!”

Beaming, Abby gesticulated widely. “We got a new press, fer signs and plates. Lets us stamp with designs straight from the computer.”

“Metal wasn’t too hard.” Darrel shrugged. “Little things like that is easy.”

Passing the box over to Vincent, Cid patted at his pockets and pulled out his wallet. He produced one of the prepaid cards and offered it.

“Nuh-uh, no way we’re takin’ payment, cos,” Abby said, holding her hands up. Darrel thumbed his nose and grunted in agreement.

“Take it, damn it.”

When they still refused to accept it, Cid turned towards his aunt. She looked momentarily torn before huffing and accepting it, shooting a glower at her two oldest.

“We got Kat to think of, ya damn fools, no need to make a scene.”

In the background, Jake perked up long enough to say, “Thank you, Cid.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He spun towards Vincent, hand on his hip. “Okay, think we needa get a move on. Ya ready?”

“Not yet.”

Ever one for surprising Cid, Vincent moved close, reaching to remove the old tags, which he tucked into Cid’s front left pocket. He hesitated here, inhaling a slow, steadying breath under all the curious eyes on them.

“What’s up...?” Cid asked, voice pitched low.

Vincent held the new tags up in the palm of his hand, the discs fanned out to show their last names and the etched images in the corners. He exhaled and met Cid’s gaze.

“Will you marry me?”

Cid’s surprised face was what Abby caught first with her phone’s camera. She made sure to snap the whole process following—Cid blurting, “Hell yeah,”; Vincent slipping the chain around his neck; and the sloppy but chaste kiss that followed. Through Betty’s tearful wailing into Darrel’s shoulder, Darrel’s wolf whistling, Abby’s own excited whoops, and even Jake’s soft clapping, Cid returned the favor, putting Vincent’s tags where they belonged, right over his heart. Then there was hugging all around, whether Vincent liked it or not, and a round of beer and noisy well wishes.

Later, with four missed calls and more incoming from Yuffie, Cid and Vincent piled into the truck to _finally_ go to dinner. They drove off with the family waving from the porch.

“What the hell, Vince, never expected ya to be all...” Cid wobbled his hand in the air, grinning. “Sentimental and shit.”

“It seemed... appropriate. You said... your aunt would want us on the wall.”

Struck by how incredibly charming he found Vincent’s motivations, Cid reached over to squeeze at his knee. His throat felt tight and his eyes moist. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up being as weepy as his aunt. Vincent patted at his knuckles, featherlight and almost uncertain.

“I really appreciate ya, starshine,” he finally managed, when the red, red sign of _Mama’s_ came into view.

“Enough to look the other way while I make my escape?”

Cid pulled into the parking lot and shut the truck off before answering. “Yuffie’s gonna blow her lid.”

“...That isn’t a no.” Vincent’s voice was quiet. He gazed distantly out at the glowing red sign, and at the people coming and going from the restaurant, families out for a pleasant meal and quality time.

“Pssht.” Planting his hand on the edge of his seat, he leaned over into Vincent’s space and waited until the other man looked at him. Cid saw the wariness in those red eyes, the tense shoulders beneath the cloak, the worn down, weary exhaustion creeping in. “Been a long fuckin’ day and ya went above and beyond for me. If ya wanna bail, go right the fuck ahead.”

“And the intel briefing? It would be an abhorrent failing if I were to neglect the mission I agreed to for _personal reasons_.”

“Ah fuck off with that shit, Vince.” Cid snagged Vincent by the dog tags, but didn't press any closer, as much as he wanted to. “No one’s gonna give a shit if ya don't come in and eat some damn pasta with us.”

"You might."

The truth in those words gave Cid pause. He frowned, rubbing his tongue against the inside of his right cheek, as he considered that, yes, he _did_ want Vincent to stay for dinner, and he wanted to spend the rest of the night wrapped up in him, but--

"This here--" Cid twisted the silver chain around his hand, palming the tags themselves. "This ain't a collar to keep ya at my side all the time."

Vincent gripped Cid's wrist, too hard and painful, but didn't try to get free. The heat in his eyes as he stared Cid down was some worrying mix of want and anger, at odds with the way he pulled back, flattening against the passenger door. The chain pulled taut around his neck, digging into the pale skin above his collar. It would leave a red mark that wouldn't last the night.

Cid unwound his hand and let go, backing off. "It's a promise to always come back, that's all. We both gotta run ourselves out, sometimes, chasin' that horizon, or fuckin' demons or whatever." He laid his arms over the steering wheel, propping his chin against the wrist that still smarted. "Okay? So just... get."

"Cid."

Without moving, Cid looked sidelong. He watched as Vincent opened the passenger door and slid out, and admired how graceful and unreal Vincent was, and wanted so badly to call the night off and go chasing after Vincent until the snarled up mood passed. He didn't move and he didn't speak.

"Where do we rendezvous."

"I'll prolly go to Shera's after."

Vincent inclined his head. "Alright." He spun away, cloak flaring and swirling around him, but before he took even a step away from the truck, he said, "I'll come back to you, when I've quieted my demons. Always."

Cid smiled, tiredly, and listened to the clack of boots fading away. It took him several minutes to work up to getting out of the truck, and a couple more to enter the restaurant.

The waiting area inside was crowded with families waiting to be seated. Cid almost felt bad making Yuffie go ahead of them to hold a table while he and Vincent did other things, but then he saw her waving in a corner, two empty bread baskets and a giant, half-eaten plate of pasta in front of her. She'd gotten along just fine without them. Cait Sith sat in the chair next to her, propped up on a booster seat.

Shrugging off the helpful inquiries of the wait staff, he went over to join her.

"Where's Vincent?" was the first thing out of her mouth.

"Not here."

"Aww, boo. You guys took so long, I kinda figured this was gonna happen." She pushed some noodles around on her plate, thoughtful and disappointed but not nearly as upset as he'd expected.

Cait Sith's ears drooped. "Guess that means he's not fully recovered..."

"Sorry, prolly my bad."

Yuffie jabbed her fork in his direction, cheeks puffy. "You wore him out, didn't you!! You're an old man, you should know what it's like! Should go easier on him and-- heeyyyy what's _that_." Her gaze fell on the new tags, the silver and gold glinting in the fake candlelight.

Cait Sith leaned its hands on the table, sitting up to peer with open curiosity. "Didn't know you had jewelry, Cid!"

The arrival of a waiter saved Cid from needing to answer straight away. "Hello, sir, can I get you something to drink?" The waiter handed over a menu, smiling too brightly.

Counting off on his fingers without touching the menu, Cid answered, "I want whatever beer's on tap, a glass of water, the day's special."

"Yes, sir." The waiter made to leave, but froze when Cid held his hand up.

"When I'm done eatin', I want an order of shrimp scampi, steak and ravioli, make it bloody, and enough tiramisu for four, all to go. Aside from bringin' stuff, I ain't want ya comin' over here unless I wave for ya. Got it?"

"Of course, sir."

Aware of Cait Sith and Yuffie staring at him, Cid dug his wallet out and passed one of the prepaid cards over to the shellshocked waiter. "Settle the bill, tip yaself 30%."

"Oh, thank you, sir." The waiter bowed and hurried away.

"Alright, ya nosy bastards..." Cid eyed the two practically vibrating in their seats across from him. "I ain't tellin' ya shit without Vincent, so leave off."

Yuffie and Cait Sith looked at each other. As one, they turned on Cid, pointing.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Yuffie demanded, even as Cait Sith whined, "I thought we were friends!"

"Sorry, kiddos, secret's gotta keep for a lil longer." Cid folded his arms and tapped his foot, teeth grit. He really needed a cigarette right then, but they were seated in the no smoking section. "Tell me what ya found."

"Uggghhh," Yuffie flopped back in her chair dramatically. After a moment or two in which Cid was totally unmoved, she returned to her food, taking a few bites before beginning to gesture widely. "Okay, so," she started, with food in her mouth.

"Swallow, Yuffie," Cait Sith reminded.

She opened her mouth, showing off the contents. While the cat made disgusted noises, she swallowed and resumed talking, "Gongaga's always been small and _poor_. The WRO has been making good strides towards cleaning up the old wreckage finally, and people started moving into the area, but there's never been much going on out there aside from farming. Boring."

"'Nother small town that never took off cuz ShinRa didn't see no profit." Cid shrugged. "That it?"

"No, this is where it gets _weird_..."

The waiter chose that moment to arrive with a tray laden with Cid's order. He set the drinks out on coasters, then put the steaming dinner plate down in front of Cid with a murmur of, "Careful, it's hot."

The evening's special turned out to be a huge pork chop, split in two and stuffed with pale cheese, topped with mushrooms. On the side sat a heap of noodles in tomato sauce and long slices of grilled squash and zucchini.

The waiter produced the card and bill, setting them delicately next to the plate. "I'll have your to go items in about twenty minutes. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Nah, this is great, thanks."

"Enjoy." The waiter bowed and left.

Cid unrolled his silverware from the napkin, draped the cloth over a thigh, and then cut into the porkchop to take his first bite. It was good, but he found that he didn't have much of an appetite. Still, he was going to make himself eat. Yuffie waited, perhaps out of respect for the food, until he rolled his fork in the air at her in a _go on_ gesture.

"Right! So, Gongaga should still be pretty much the same." Yuffie dug into her pocket for her phone. She unlocked it, tapped through a few screens, and then pushed it across the table. "But it's not."

The screen showed a slide show of the town's recent developments, starting shortly after Meteorfall, but noticeably ramping up in the last two years. It was once a one street town with nothing going for it but a too large cemetery. New neighborhoods sprung up, leading to new businesses, new parks, new roads, new everything. The sleepy little town was on the fast track to becoming a successful resort city, given the nearby beach, mountains, and Gold Saucer only a half hour flight away.

"What the hell. Where they gettin' the money?"

"Right?" Cait Sith said. "The WRO didn't have anything to do with it, and neither did our mysterious benefactor. We only cleaned up the waste."

Cid squinted, chewing through a few more bites. The slide show repeated itself.

"And nobody sayin' nothin' to no WRO."

Yuffie shook her head. "Nope. I think you and Vincent are right, something big's happening and we need to find out what."

"Damn town got big. How the hell we gonna find someone that'll talk? Take forever..."

"Weeeell..."

"The original cemetery remains as is," Cait Sith pointed out. "Stands to reason the original locals are still around, and they might not be too happy about their hometown changing so much!"

"Yeah. I'll just look for old people!" Yuffie smiled. "Put on my best charms and make 'em get to reminiscing about the past!"

"Might refrain from callin' 'em old to their face," Cid muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Of course! What kind of sweet young woman would be so rude to her elders?"

Cid shot a glare at her, but it only served to make her grin wider. "Right. Well, get yer as--" Remembering that he was in a _family_ establishment and a group with young children sat at the table next to them, he cleared his throat. "--butts to the airport 'round ten hundred hours tomorrow."

Both Cait Sith and Yuffie threw salutes. "You got it, Captain!" Yuffie said, beaming.

With a grunt, Cid downed half his beer. Then he waved the waiter down for boxes for their leftovers. When the rest of his order arrived, he gave Yuffie one of the tiramisu slices.

"Sorry, cat, ya gotta be here if ya want the goods," he told Cait Sith, who looked very pathetic and droopy about missing out on dessert.

"Cats can't have chocolate," Yuffie added, cheeky.

Cid grabbed the bags of food and headed out with the two idiots on his heels. The inn wasn't a far walk but Yuffie kept groaning about how full and sleepy she was, so Cid gave them a ride to shut her up. Then he drove to Shera's.

The lights were still out, the doors locked, but he still had the spare, so he let himself in and put the leftovers away. And froze because his mind only just processed the shadow he'd seen on the roof when he'd pulled in. He darted back out onto the lawn to look up, meeting glowing red eyes with his heart hammering.

"Fuckin' hell, Vince," he wheezed, doubling over his knees. "Scared the shit outta me."

"I did not have a key and didn't want to break Shera's door down," came the soft reply. Vincent hadn't moved, except to hunch his shoulders.

"S'fine. Ya feelin' better?"

"Not particularly."

"Ya want company? Stars are pretty great up there."

"I suppose."

Cid crouched low, then sprang up onto the roof. He stumbled on landing, the weak alcohol he'd consumed sloshing uncomfortably in his belly, but he didn't fall, so he counted it a win. He plopped down next to Vincent, leaving plenty of space, and leaned back on his hands to look at the sky. Shera still lived far enough out of town that the street lights didn't diminish the view much.

After a while, Vincent shifted closer, lining their arms and legs up. He tipped his head back, looking upon the stars as if they held all the answers he sought.

"Hard to believe we ever went up there," Cid muttered. "Makes me feel damn small."

"Hmm." Vincent lowered his head, drawing his knees up to rest his cheek against one. He went still, eyes squeezed shut, and didn't breathe for long enough that Cid shifted worriedly next to him, reaching but not quite daring to touch.

Red eyes snapped open, regarding him from behind dark hair. Vincent exhaled, raggedly, and resumed breathing, deep and slow and unevenly.

"I still have dreams of weightlessness. Drifting through the great dark, nothing but pinpoints of light in the distance."

"...Yeah?"

"Mm." Vincent gazed upwards again. "The stars would go out, one by one, until there was nothing left but cold black nothingness." He shrugged a shoulder, as if the nightmares meant little.

"Sounds fucked."

With a soft laugh, Vincent leaned into Cid's side. His hand skirted over Cid's shirt, past ribs and settling against his heartbeat. "Lately, this annoying thudding sound," he pressed his forefinger down, brief, "has been in the background. It's very distracting."

"Does it help?"

"Sometimes."

"Then I'm not even a lil sorry, starshine."

Cid draped his arm over Vincent's shoulders, shifting around to fit them together better. He ended up laying back with Vincent's head on his chest. As he lay there unmoving, his limbs seemed to fade away into nothingness, leaving him feeling weightless. It was an odd experience, but not unpleasant, not with Vincent draped over him, radiating heat.

The sky loomed close, stars spread out above them, twinkling but not going out. Cid closed his eyes when it became too much, and let himself drift.


	25. and a long memory

The stars fell away, leaving streaks of white fire in their wake. He could not avoid them all. One smashed into his shoulder, sending him flying, sparks of pain igniting across his skin. Into the great dark, endlessly spinning, spinning, spinning, until nausea and pain were all he knew.

He splashed into water and sank, shell shocked. It went up his nose and down his throat, choking the life out of him like a living, solid thing that wrapped tight around his lungs and squeezed, cruel and unrelenting. Flailing, he broke the surface of the water and found himself standing in knee deep muck, gasping.

All around him, the mouthless dead looked on. They stood in clusters between rusting, broken examination tables and medical tubes that slowly sank into the mud. As one, the dead lifted their arms and pointed behind him. He turned to look and wished he hadn't.

The thick slurry he stood in spilled out into a yawning chasm. Bodies floated by, tumbling off the edge, and smashed on the rocks below. Bile rose in the back of his throat, burning, and he choked on it when dozens of hands shoved against his back, sending him tumbling and sliding and _falling_.

Warm arms caught him, enfolding him in an embrace. The filth and horror fell away. All around him, golden flowers bobbed in the wind, sweet and lovely.

"Are you sure you want to see that?"

"...No. I got a lil lost."

"Oh, dear. Let me help you."

She dropped him, and he fell, not down, but _up_.

He woke, damp and overheated, in a bed he had no recollection of falling asleep in. It took him a minute to place the bland room as one of Shera's guest rooms. And another to realize that not only was he under all the covers, but the hot, heavy weight draped across him was another person.

"Vincent," he muttered.

"Mmh?"

Cid shifted, kicking the blankets off his leg. The chill air on his sweaty skin brought immediate relief.

"What time issit?"

Vincent sighed, pushing off of Cid. "Too soon to be awake."

"Sorry." Cid threw the blankets the rest of the way off and sat up. He rubbed at the sweat on his neck, pulling his damp shirt away from his chest.

"Dreaming again, Chief?"

"...Gonna go get a shower. Go back to sleep."

Vincent studied him for a moment, red eyes glowing in the predawn gloom. "Alright." He rolled over, pulling the blankets up past his ears, and as far as Cid could tell, he went straight to sleep.

Cid got out of bed and grabbed clean clothes from one of the duffle bags, then went across the hallway to take a shower. The warm water washed away the sweat and confusion of the night. He felt ten times better afterwards.

He went downstairs to make a solitary mug of tea for himself, and then stepped out the back door for a smoke. It was quiet out, not much stirring that early in the morning. Cid leaned against the house and breathed in the smoke and the steam from his tea and relaxed.

As the sun made its slow climb into the sky, the back door opened. Vincent stepped out, regarding him with sleepy concern.

"What's up?" Cid asked.

"You did not come back."

Cid shrugged, uncomfortable. The movement made the cold dregs of tea in his mug slosh around. "Didn't think I'd be sleepin' and didn't wanna bug ya more."

"Hmm." Vincent gazed out across the yard. After a moment, he lifted his gauntlet, curling the talons. "Come, this is a poor place to view the sunrise."

Abandoning his mug on the back step, Cid followed Vincent up onto the roof. The tiles were damp underfoot and wouldn't be pleasant to sit on. Vincent settled on his cloak and held his hand up, invitingly. Cid took the offered hand, and let himself be pulled down and arranged until he sat with his back against Vincent's front, right between his legs. Cid draped his arms against Vincent's legs, fingers curled over knees, and in turn, Vincent loosely wrapped his arms around Cid's waist.

"Better, starshine?" Cid asked.

"Mhm." Vincent shifted, resting his cheek against Cid's shoulder.

After a while, his breathing slowed, and when Cid glanced back, it was to find that Vincent dozed again. Smirking, Cid resigned himself to watching the sky change colors alone. He rubbed idle circles with his thumbs against Vincent's knees and let his thoughts wander.

The sound of the front door opening and closing marked Shera’s departure for work. Cid thought about calling out but he didn't want to explain what they were doing on the roof. He'd have to say his farewells later.

The sun was fully up by then, and they needed to get a move on. Regretfully, Cid nudged at the inside of Vincent’s thigh.

“Hey, c’mon, we got places to be.”

Grumbling, Vincent buried his face in the crook of Cid's neck, arms squeezing around his middle briefly before letting go. "What bribe will convince you to let us go back to bed for another day?"

Sympathetic, Cid patted Vincent's knee. "Can't do it, we got people waitin' on us."

As Vincent exhaled in a huffy rush, Cid rolled up onto his knees, and then climbed to his feet. He stepped off the cloak and turned to offer a hand to help Vincent up. Vincent took it, pulled himself up, and shook his cloak out.

"Least ya ain't gotta do nothin' on the flight," Cid said, when they were on the ground again.

"Who can sleep with the world vibrating and roaring nonstop?"

Cid shrugged, grinning. He rescued his abandoned mug on the way into the house and deposited it in the kitchen sink.

"How's 'bout I make breakfast before we go, give ya more time to wake up."

Nodding, Vincent drifted into the living room, where he promptly sprawled on the couch, arm flung over his face. Cid watched him go, then shook his head. Maybe everything really _had_ been too much all at once. No way to know when they'd get a chance to rest once they got back in the air, either.

At the least, he could prolong their inactivity by having the crew ready the plane. Cid pulled his phone out and texted Shera. {hey can you have the Last prepped for flight? leaving today}

She replied as he rummaged in the fridge. {Sure thing.}

{thanks,} he replied, and stuck the phone in his back pocket.

Humming, Cid dug out the eggs, milk, butter, and ham steak. From the cupboards, he grabbed potatoes, salt, pepper, and cinnamon. Prep work took longer than cooking; the steady clack of the knife against the cutting board drew Vincent back into the kitchen.

"Wanna put some coffee or somethin' on?"

With a nod, Vincent drifted to Shera's coffee pot. He was familiar with it from previous visits and soon had it burbling away. That task done, he took a seat at the table, eyes half closed, and breathed in the growing smells of cooking food.

Cid fixed two plates of fried potatoes, ham steak, scrambled eggs, and eggy toast. He set them on the table, then went to fetch the syrup, strawberry jam, butter, and coffee.

"Need anything else?" he asked.

"No." Vincent cradled his mug of coffee like it was the most precious thing, breathing deeply over the rim.

Cid flopped into his chair. "Eat up," he instructed, doing exactly that.

Though obviously exhausted, Vincent made a pretty good pass at eating. He managed half of it before pushing the plate away, and he drank two cups of coffee. Cid counted it as a win.

While Vincent retreated upstairs for the bathroom, Cid cleaned up. Shera didn’t deserve to come home to a mess left behind by her guests, after all. Once the dishes were done, he went to get their stuff to load the truck up.

{Ready for departure, Captain,} Shera texted, as he threw the last bag into the back.

Vincent came out into the sunshine, hunched into his cape and blinking, and wandered over to stand near the truck. He looked less run over and more alert. Cid wandered over to lean against the truck next to him.

“How ya doin’, ready to go?”

“This cannot be delayed any longer.” Vincent shrugged, but gave Cid a sly, sidelong look. “...I would not mind a cigarette.”

“Oh yeah? Wonder what we can do ‘bout that…”

Despite his teasing tone, Cid nevertheless produced cigarettes and lighter. He passed one over, and when Vincent put it between his lips and bent towards him, he lit the tip. Vincent inhaled, eyelids fluttering shut, and exhaled off to the side, slow and satisfied.

“Thanks, Chief.”

Cid’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he watched Vincent enjoy the smoke without sharing. He coughed and glanced away, trying and failing to recall why they were in a hurry to go anywhere.

Vincent stepped closer, penning Cid against the side of the truck. “Did _you_ need something?”

“Issat how it’s gonna be, Valentine?” Cid demanded, and then yanked him down to kiss the smirk off his face.

Several enjoyable minutes later, Vincent twisted his heel on the forgotten cigarette butt, mashing the lingering ember into the dirt. He was flushed and breathless and looking oh, so smug. “Yeah… I think that _is_ how it's gonna be, Highwind.”

He popped the passenger door open and got in, leaving Cid to get himself together and to clean up their litter. With a goofy grin, Cid wobbled to the driver’s side and got in. After starting the truck up, he turned the radio on, tuning into some classic pop song about hungry wolves. Out of respect for the relatively early hour, he kept the volume low.

“Is this my punishment?” Vincent sighed, though he didn't look especially upset. Just the opposite, really, all loose limbed and droopy eyed.

“Driver picks the tunes, Vince.” Cid backed out of Shera’s driveway and onto the road, heading for the inn. “Don't think they play that old shit from your days nomores.”

“Thank Gaia.”

“What, don't like the oldies?”

“With the advent of enhanced senses, no, I am not a fan of older recordings.”

“Oh, right, cuz they get kinda fucky…”

“Like nails on a chalkboard.”

When they pulled up to the inn, Cid got his phone out to text Yuffie. During the wait that followed, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of several more catchy pop songs, most of them he knew only well enough to sing the chorus. More than once, he felt like he _should_ know a song, but the memories slipped away like water through his fingers.

Yuffie and Cait Sith came bounding out the doors after four or five songs. They piled into the back noisily, and immediately Yuffie flailed, dramatically covering her ears. "Augh, _oldies_?! Don't you listen to anything recent?"

"The hell is everyone's goddamn problem with the classics?" Cid pulled out into the road sharply, and glared into the rear view mirror. "Buckle yer asses up!"

Yelping because they'd been flung to the side, Yuffie and Cait Sith scrambled to get strapped in. Wisely, nothing more was said about Cid's choice in music. Vincent patted his knee while looking out the passenger window, expression hidden. He probably found it funny.

As tempting as it was to turn the radio up to annoy Yuffie, Cid left the volume control alone. The drive to the airport wasn't long enough for the headache anyway.

The guards at the two gates they passed through to get to where the _Last_ sat in waiting did double-takes at Cid's new dog tags, but didn't hold them up. Crew members waved at their arrival, then pitched in to unload the truck, strapping everything down in crates along one wall of the cargo hold.

Cid kicked a couple of jump seats open along the other wall, eyeing Yuffie. "Ya wanna stay down here, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." She flopped into one of the seats, clutching a flowery backpack in her lap, likely loaded with stuff to fend off air sickness.

"Ya stay down here too, cat."

"Sure thing, Captain!" Cait Sith climbed into the seat next to Yuffie, and once strapped in, leaned forward to loudly stage whisper, "So where can I hide in case someone tries to break me?"

This happened about when Vincent walked past. He froze. Haltingly, he turned on his heel to stare.

Cid cleared his throat, scratching at the back of his head. "Yeah, uhh..."

"...My apologies. I was... not in my right mind."

Cait Sith waved both hands. "That's okay, just, please don't do it again!!"

Vincent glanced between the mechanical cat and Cid, then swept away, vanishing up the ladder to the cockpit. Cid watched him go, one hand on his hip, and then when he was certain Vincent wasn't going to look back, he pointed out the empty hatches near the bomb bay. It didn't seem likely Vincent _would_ do anything, but they were on their way to deal with unknown enemies. Better safe than sorry.

"Don't be in there if we ever gotta drop anything."

"Thank you kindly, Captain!" Cait Sith chirruped.

"Yeah, yeah."

After the last crew member saluted and went a safe distance away to oversee takeoff, Cid shut the entrance hatch, then went to take his seat in the cockpit. Vincent watched him prime the engines, then shifted around to watch the land drop away as they took off. 

Cid flicked the intercom switch on his headphones. "We'll be in Gongaga in about three hours." He frowned at the gray horizon in the distance. "Better stay in ya damn seats cuz it looks like rain south of us. Try not to barf all over our shit in the meantime."

A muffled groan from down below, just barely audible over the roar of the engines, was his answer. With a snort, he turned the intercom off.

Aside from minor turbulence, the flight went without incident.

Cid landed them nice and neat in Gongaga's shiny new airport, and swallowed down his swears while his plane and cargo were inspected. It _was_ suspect that a military aircraft would land in a resort town, after all. Ultimately, they were given a pass because the plane itself possessed no live ammunition. The only weaponry they possessed was personal and no one in their right mind would protest the right to self-defense.

Cait Sith made use of the new hiding place during the inspection. The cat clambered and clanked back out once all of the airport staff were gone. It pointed up at Cid and Vincent, smiling.

"Oh, that's right, if Yuffie's going to be successful, you two are going to need to play your parts!"

"Parts? The hell ya talkin' 'bout?"

"Be a little weird if a young girl shows up asking questions all on her lonesome..."

Yuffie, still doubled over from air sickness, wobbled her hand in the air. "I... could handle it!"

"But it'd be safer if you had backup, lass," Cait Sith argued. "And less suspicious if these two didn't stick out so much."

"Spit it out, what the hell do you want us to do?" Cid folded his arms.

"Nothing much! Play tourist and stay at a hotel."

"Ya think me and Vince can pass as tourists?"

Vincent pinched the corner of his cape, lifting it. The tattered edges flapped when he dropped it with a flourish. "The only place I have ever fit in has been Gold Saucer's motel, and that was hideous."

"So lose the cape and get some shorts!" Cait Sith jumped up and down, swiping at the air. "If anyone asks, you two are this young lady's fathers."

"Whoa, hold the fuck up--" Cid held his hands up, as if to ward the terrible plan off.

"Is she adopted?" Vincent wondered, head tilted. "And how do you plan to explain this?" He hefted his false arm, claws splayed threateningly.

"No one's going to ask if you don't make a scene about it." Yuffie stood up, rubbing at her forehead. "You just have to pretend like you belong there and _nothing's_ weird. If anyone does ask, you can just act offended until they give up."

Cid and Vincent exchanged a long look. Finally, Cid sighed, shoulders slumping and rolled his hand in a _get on with it_ gesture.

"Alright! Vincent is my birth dad, his name's Kazuo. My name's Inoe--"

"--Crescent," Vincent cut in.

"...Okay. Kazuo and Inoe Crescent." Yuffie peered up at Cid, "And um, your husband..."

"Mitchell."

"What kind name is _that_?"

"One I won't forget," Cid snapped.

Cait Sith slid between them, patting consolingly at shins. "Okay, those names are fine! Did Mitchell take his husband's last name?"

"Yeah, whatever." Cid thumbed his nose, looking away. "Tifa didn't buy us no tourist shit, and Iunno that we got enough money for no resort vacation."

"Not to worry, the WRO will cover all expenses," Cait Sith said, cheerful. "Let's get unloaded before the airport gets suspicious!"

While Yuffie made arrangements for their luggage to be loaded onto a shuttle so they could be taken to a hotel of her choosing, Cid snagged Vincent by the cloak.

"Gotta put our identifyin' marks away."

Vincent curled his fingers over the dog tags resting against his chest. His brow furrowed, then his face smoothed out into blankness as he shed cloak and gun holster, wrapping them up tight. The tags went under his shirt. Cid did the same, and took the red bundle to stuff it into one of their duffle bags before airport staff came to collect their stuff.

"If we are on vacation, does this mean we can _sleep_?" Vincent wondered, as they got off the plane.

"Guess so." Cid shrugged, looking around. The Gongaga airport was busy, but not nearly as hectic as he expected. "So, _Kazuo_ , let's find us a bed."

"Alright, _Mitchell_."

They looked at each other for a second, then Cid turned to laugh into his fist while Vincent sighed up at the sky.

Yuffie, finished with the arrangements, ran up to grab them by the arms. "C'mon, dads, there's so much to see!!" She pulled them over to the shuttle and they all piled in, narrowly avoiding squishing her "stuffed" cat in the process.

The hotel overlooked the beach, yet still had its own pools. Apparently more than ready to use company funds for her own enjoyment, Yuffie got them rooms near the top. Of course she had her own room, reluctantly shared with Cait Sith, who promised to remain powered off and out of trouble. Her two "dads" had the room across the hall from her.

Cid and Vincent stood in the middle of the massive suite, equally overwhelmed by the luxury.

It came with a sitting room that contained a couch and coffee table set that probably cost more than Cid's buggie, a mini bar, a full-sized fridge, and a phone. The bedroom had a king sized bed and a flat screen television, plus a balcony to take in the beachside view. The bathroom was twice as big and twice as ridiculous as the one at the Hotel Eagle.

"Holy shit," Cid muttered.

"How much do you suppose Reeve will have to pay every time I accidentally ruin a towel or a sheet?" Vincent asked, soft, as he clutched at the wrist of his prosthetic.

Cid bumped his shoulder against Vincent's side. "We'll be fine, alright? Let's just... put our shit away and see if Yuffie needs us."

Nodding, Vincent helped him stow their bags in the massive walk in closet. They didn't bother unpacking much, not wanting to leave anything they could be identified by lying around for housekeeping.

They went across the hall afterwards. Cid knocked on the door and Yuffie yanked it open to let them into a room only a little smaller than their own. She smiled wildly, gesturing with a little twirl.

"Isn't this great?!"

"Sure is somethin'." Cid wandered over to sit gingerly on the couch. "What now, girly? Seems to be yer show..."

"Ummm, I wanna explore town, but if you two old guys are tired, you could stay in! I've got friends in town who can get you comfier clothes, if they know your sizes."

"I am certain our mutual friends know almost everything there is to know about me," Vincent said, wearily. "To be clear, I would prefer eternal sleep to being forced into anything floral."

Shrugging a shoulder at Yuffie's curious, expectant look, Cid declared, "Bring the gaudy shit the fuck on."

"Awesome. I've got a grouchy dad with boring taste and a grumpy dad with _no_ taste. No wonder I'm gonna spend all my time out exploring town!"

"Stay safe, daughter of mine," Vincent deadpanned.

"Don't worry about me, dad, I can take care of myself!" Yuffie ran to her bags, piled on the end of the bed, and began rummaging through them. Cait Sith, powered down, flopped off the pile and landed face down, just like the stuffed animal it was pretending to be. Yuffie yanked a colorful swimsuit out. "I'm gonna hit the beach!"

"C'mon, Kazuo, let's make ourselves scarce."

Together, they retreated back to their own room. They ended up standing on opposite sides of the bed, staring across the massive expanse of luxury with equal amounts of wary uncertainty.

"I think this bed might be bigger than my entire cabin," Vincent said.

"...Probably worth more, too. Better be able to sleep like the fuckin' dead in it."

"Ha."

Shedding his belts and boots, Vincent climbed onto the bed. He paused at the edge of it, frowning a little at the give and texture.

Cid laughed at him. "Ya look like a cat that stepped in somethin' wet!"

"It is... ridiculous and soft."

"Prefer a brick?"

"No. Your bed is _terrible_ , just so you know."

"Yeah, I keep meanin' to replace it, but I don't sleep there much."

"Hmm. I suppose it only makes sense, being newly wedded to a husband with a superior bed." As he spoke, Vincent scooted further onto the bed, shoving the quilt and sheets down. He rearranged the pillows to his liking and then gingerly stretched out.

"Yeah, sure, superior. Ya got so many damn pillows, it's a wonder anybody can find the mattress."

"I did not hear complaints when you were allowed to share with me."

"Yeah, I can keep my damn mouth shut _sometimes_."

"Shocking."

Cid thumbed his nose at Vincent, grinning, and wriggled out of his boots, jeans, and jacket, then hopped onto the bed. The bounce didn't even reach Vincent. There was enough room for at least four grown men, maybe five, and that was bonkers. Cid rolled onto his belly, leaning his weight on his folded arms.

"Not what I had in mind when I said we'd save the damn world."

"Hmm." Vincent closed his eyes, hands folded atop his belly. "How long do you think this farce will last?"

"Iunno."

"Well." Vincent opened one eye. "If we are newlyweds, we should certainly play the part."

Cid swallowed thickly, scooting closer to Vincent. "Oh... Yeah?"

"By never leaving the room if we can help it."

"Might get borin' if we don't find ways to entertain ourselves..."

"Mhm."

"Are ya invitin' somethin' here?" Cid asked, now close enough to kiss.

"I am cordially inviting you to go to sleep."

With a groan, Cid dropped his head against Vincent's chest. "Ya a damn tease."

Vincent petted fingers through his hair and down his neck, rubbing tension away. "Later, Chief."

Melting under Vincent's ministrations, Cid mumbled, "Hmmkay, starshine," and let himself doze.


	26. searching for an answer

A warm voice rumbled against his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “Hey, Chief…”

He didn’t really want to be awake yet. Sleep draped over him, heavy and comfortable and infinitely more inviting than trying to squint gritty eyes open to cold, stinging air. “Mm-huh?”

“It is later.”

The words made no sense. Cid grunted, curling in on himself, and waited for them to untangle. He drifted, until something sharp prickled along his lower back, making him gasp and arch.

“Wha- Later!”

All of a sudden he jerked up, becoming aware that the left side of his face was unpleasantly wet. Too many thoughts crashed into each other, wakefulness coming too fast. The world spun crazily on its axis, tilting, and he flopped over on his side, blinking rapidly with a groan.

The mattress trembled next to him. Cid twisted around to find Vincent shaking with silent mirth.

“What the hell, V--”

Long, pale fingers covered his mouth. Half-opened red eyes studied him, thoughtful and warm, and then those fingers trailed up along the side of his face, patting at his hair.

“Your hair is sticking up every which way, _Mitchell _, and you’ve drooled down your front. Very attractive.”__

____

____

“Uggghhh…” Cid rolled so that he was face down on the bed, away from the cruel demon tormenting him. “Fuck off, Kaaaaz.”

“If that is your desire.”

At the shift of weight on the bed indicating Vincent was moving away, Cid flailed blindly with one hand, making a grab. He got a fistful of pants and clung to it like his life depended on it. Fingers curled around his wrist, loose and gentle, and rubbed soothing circles. He could feel Vincent quietly laughing at him again.

As he laid there, he began to wake up properly. His body made its needs known, protesting his inactivity.

“...What ya gonna do for me if I get up?”

“Hmm.” Vincent stilled, giving the question due consideration. “Shall I wine and dine you? Recite poetry? Your wish could be my command.”

Cid lifted his head slowly, tilting it to one side, and raised his brows. “Yanno friggin… poetry?”

“Why is this surprising? You can sing your horrible songs, and as far as I can tell, that isn't standard education in the modern school.”

“Oi, asshole, some of us do things for _fun_.” Cid shoved at Vincent’s leg. “Anyway, I ain't taken pot shots at yer trashy novels, why ya always gotta be nasty ‘bout my music?”

“My apologies,” Vincent said, sounding not at all sorry. But he did lean down and press a kiss to Cid’s temple, which mollified him somewhat.

With a grunt, he finally sat up, scratching at the side of his neck where the tags’ chain dug into his skin. He sought out the time and found an old timey wind-up alarm clock on the bedside table. It took him a second to parse the array of hands, as he'd lived military time most of his life. Well after 1600 hours, not yet dark out but the sunlight slanting through the blinds had already started taking an orange tint.

“Inoe ever come back?” Cid asked.

Vincent got off the bed, heading for the closet. “Practicing at being fatherly?”

“Fucker, I’d worry about her anyway..”

“She texted a short while ago, complaining about the cruel sun, right before making a lot of noise across the hall.” Vincent paused with his hand on the closet door knob, looking back. “I suppose she inherited the predilection for burning easily from my side of the family…” His tone was entirely devoid of emotion, but there was the ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Yer havin’ way too much fun with this,” Cid decided, abandoning the bed in favor of the bathroom. His bladder couldn't wait any longer.

While he was in there, he took the time to wash up at the sink, scrubbing away sweat and drool. His shirt clung unpleasantly, a sure sign that not only did he need a change of clothes, but a shower.

When he came back out, it was to find Vincent tucking a small handgun into the bedside table's drawer. A shotgun, two more handguns, and a stack of ammo boxes lay near the end of the bed. A change of clothes sat next to the guns, amusingly mundane.

"...Feelin' exposed?"

Vincent nodded, grabbed the shotgun and clothes, and strode off to the bathroom. Cid shrugged, and went to the closet to get some clean clothes of his own. It didn't bother him in the least to have weapons scattered around. In fact, he found it interesting that Vincent hadn't done it as soon as they arrived.

After digging up a change of clothes, Cid dropped them on the bed and went to wait out on the balcony until Vincent was done in the bathroom. He fiddled with his lighter, but didn't get a cigarette out. The warm breeze smelled of sea salt and some wet stink from the jungle. Not the most pleasant mix, and he didn't fancy adding smoke to it.

Vincent came out of the bathroom about twenty minutes later, washed up and changed. He went straight to squirreling one of the other guns under the couch, and the ammo nearby, not even looking at or speaking to Cid.

Unbothered, Cid left him to it, grabbing clothes and heading in for a quick shower. He left the bathroom door slightly cracked open in case Vincent needed something, or came down from whatever far away place his brain had taken him. Though unsure that the night was going anywhere, Cid scrubbed up thoroughly. And made himself passably presentable after, trimming his scruff and making a vague pass at taming his hair. His clothes were nothing much--the new denim jacket from Tifa, a fresh t-shirt that read "Spicy Big Dad" that he didn't remember owning, and mostly clean cargo pants.

"What... are you wearing?" Vincent asked, the minute he came out. That crimson stare was most definitely on his chest.

Cid plucked at the shirt. "What, never seen a t-shirt with words on it?"

"Of course I have. _Why_ do you own something like _that_."

"Gotta make dad jokes while the goin's good."

“I'm not sure that constitutes as a joke so much as a hideous eyesore inflicted on the rest of humanity.”

“Ouch.” Cid clapped his hand over his chest, palming the tags beneath the shirt. “I'm _wounded_. Don't know if this marriage is gonna work, there ain't nearly enough winin’ and dinin’ involved. Or poetry.”

Vincent closed his eyes, breathing in and out to calm himself. Though, from the slight shake of his shoulders, he wasn't upset, but amused. “I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead,” he recited, reopening his eyes. “I lift my lids and all is born again.”

“Morbid,” Cid said, watching Vincent’s slow approach.

“I think I made you up inside my head.”

“We been over that shit.”

“Shh.” Vincent stopped very close, near enough to kiss, but when Cid reached for him, he leaned away. “The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, and arbitrary blackness gallops in; I shut my eyes and the world drops dead.”

He thought of being on Shera’s roof, gazing at the stars. Vincent’s weightless nightmares in the growing void, and his own descent into something similar. Warm weight trapping him in bed, grounding him like his heartbeat had for Vincent. Mostly, he watched Vincent’s lips move, and wished they were closer.

“I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed, and sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane…”

“ _I’m_ gonna go insane if ya don't kiss me.”

“Hmm, and here I thought poetry wouldn't work on you.”

But finally, finally, Vincent pulled him close and slanted their mouths together. Cid clung to him with a relieved groan, kissing back for all he was worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split the chapter to separate out the filth again. Sorry the sfw part is short.
> 
> Vincent is quoting "Mad Girl's Love Song" by Sylvia Plath.


	27. nsfw - frail in the kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: partial clothing, awkwardness, biting, nipple play, intercrural

"Are you hungry, or do you want to do this out of order?"

"Fuck, _please_ do me out of order."

With a breathless laugh, Vincent pulled Cid towards the bed. "As you wish."

He dropped back on the bed first, allowing Cid both a chance to admire the view, and, even better, the ability to climb up and straddle him. Cid braced his hands and knees at either side of Vincent's body and bent down to kiss him. Lips parted for further exploration and their tongues glided against one another.

As they kissed, Vincent pushed at the denim jacket, pulling it from Cid's shoulders. Cid moved to shake it all the way off, but Vincent caught him by the wrist, stilling him. With deft fingers, Vincent undid the cuffs and worked the sleeves down Cid's arms with far more gentleness than expected.

Being forced to slow down gave them both time to catch their breaths. Some of the nervous tension in Vincent's shoulders eased. He draped the jacket off the edge of the bed to his right, and then settled his hand on Cid's hip.

"Is it alright if I keep my shirt on?"

"Uh, yeah, of course." Cid laid one hand against Vincent's chest, seeking out the bump of dog tags; he put his other hand over Vincent's wrist. "Whatever ya comfortable with."

"And what about _you_...?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"You're always submitting to my hang ups," Vincent said, turning his head to the side. "You haven't asked for anything for yourself."

Cid tugged Vincent’s hand up, lowering himself so that he could settle the palm against his cheek. “‘Tween the two of us, ya the one with more issues with his body. Figure it's easier to start with yer boundaries cuz mine’re lax.” He turned to press a kiss to the heel of Vincent’s palm, and then further down, against the inside of his wrist. “We ain't done a lot yet. Plenty of time for me later, starshine.”

“...And if I wanted to know, for the sake of knowing, what _do_ you want?”

“If I say _you_ , ya won't accept it.”

"No. I am yours, but I want to know how to please you."

Cid shivered under the searching heat in Vincent's gaze. He sank, resting his forehead against Vincent's chest, and hummed approval at having his hair petted.

"Askin' the hard questions right off, huh?"

To be truthful, he didn't entirely _know_ what he wanted. His partners in the last ten years had all been rare casual flings, and all pretty vanilla. Depression, work, and saving the world hadn't left a lot of room for relationships. It became even more difficult to seek any kind of companionship once he realized how bad he had it for a certain red eyed, gun-toting man.

Softly, Vincent asked, "Are you overthinking it like _I_ would?"

"...Listen, asshole." Cid shifted so that his chin was propped against Vincent's chest and he could glower into the man's face. "I spent an embarrassin' amount of time wantin' and resigned to not havin'." He pushed himself up with his hands, settling his weight on Vincent's thighs. "Excuse me if I can't decide what I wanna do first."

"I'm sorry I made you wait."

" _I'm_ not. We'd've been shit to each other, all wrapped up in our own bullshit."

“...Ah…” Vincent sat up on his elbows, head tilted to diagonally back, giving Cid a pleasing view of the graceful arch of his neck, the hint of the silver chain disappearing under his collar. “I am... grateful to be the one thing you are not reckless with.”

Cid couldn't think of anything to say that didn't feel shallow and corny, so he gave into temptation and bent to mouth at Vincent's neck. The swipe of tongue only garnered a hitch in breath, but teeth and sucking hard enough to leave darkened skin behind made Vincent shudder, sinking back onto the mattress. Cid chased that tantalizing flesh down, lingered at the edge of the collar, and worked his way back up the other side with equal fervor.

Vincent's hand slid up over his shoulder and down his back, dragging fingertips roughly to scratch with blunt nails. Cid hissed, losing his concentration, and arched into the hand that roughly gripped his ass and squeezed.

"U-uh, so..." Cid swallowed, nosing at Vincent's ear as he tried to articulate his want. "Partial clothing is, uh, pretty hot."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Ya want me to leave somethin' on?"

"Hmm." Vincent hooked his fingers through a belt loop at Cid's back and tugged sharply. "Pants stay on."

"Fuck." Cid squirmed. "All the way on, or?"

"No... you can pull them down, but only to your knees."

Cid exhaled a low, drawn out, "Shiiiiit," as the permission went straight to his groin. With pants trapping his legs, his movement was going to be somewhat restricted. He sucked in a breath, sitting up, and grabbed the hem of the shirt. "Had it out for spice dad, huh?"

"Only because it blocks a much nicer view."

With a short laugh, Cid yanked the shirt up over his head and tossed it on top of the denim jacket. The tags jangled as they fell back into place. "So ya _do_ like my tits."

"They're agreeable," Vincent allowed, already palming one swell of muscle and fat, thumb swiping over the dusky nipple.

"Ah-huh."

Cid bent to lick at Vincent's lips until they parted for him, then took his time exploring the other man's mouth while clever fingers teased his nipple until it was hard and pebbly. He slid his own hands into dark hair, enjoying the texture and thickness. When Vincent gave a particularly vicious twist to his nipple, he pulled hair, breaking away from the kissing with a growl.

"Mind the goods, honey."

"Sorry."

Vincent's hand slipped away, but not in retreat. Instead, he hooked his arm around Cid's waist and urged him further up. Curious, Cid went along with it, soon found himself sinking into tender kisses trailing down his chest, a warm tongue laving away the sting. To keep himself from falling on Vincent altogether, Cid kept himself propped up on his elbows.

"Better?" Vincent asked, smirking against his sternum.

"Yeah--ah!"

A gentle nip of teeth, followed by a sucking kiss made him buck and nearly overbalance. Vincent steadied him with a hand on his hip, and continued his worship over to the other, as of yet neglected pectoral. Getting his chest played with like this had honestly never really factored into his fantasies before, but Vincent's heated focus was heady; by the time he laid back to admire the marks he'd left, Cid was panting and grinding slightly against his belly, erection painfully trapped behind cotton and denim.

Vincent licked his lips, stilling Cid's hips with a firm push against his stomach. "Hmm. How would you like this, Chief?" His voice was lower and more rumbly, with an uneven hitch that made Cid's belly quiver with nervous anticipation.

"Uhh. Shit, we prolly shoulda... talked 'bout preferred positions, mebbe. Um." Cid scooted back and off the bed, pausing to admire how _good_ Vincent looked, sprawled out on the bed with his hair spread out, flushed and in entirely too many clothes, his pants tented. "...Shit, and lube and--"

"Bedside table." Vincent made a show of stretching, slow and languid. "Give me ...anything, I want to experience it all. With you."

Red eyes didn't meet his, a fetching flush creeping up pale skin as Vincent tucked his chin but could not hide. Cid reached, caught him by the wrist, and bent to press tender kisses to the bumps of knuckles.

With a great amount of reluctance, Cid let go and moved away, going to investigate the side table. Aside from the recently hidden gun, he found the plastic bag from the pharmacy. He grabbed the lube and a handful of condoms, just in case of mishaps, and turned to regard the ridiculous amount of space between him and Vincent.

"... Ain't gettin' any fonder of this fuckass huge bed," Cid decided.

"Tragic." Vincent began to undo his fly, smirking when Cid stumbled back around to him. "I could get used to watching you scramble."

"Goddamn tease."

Cid came up to the end of the bed, one of Vincent's knees between his legs, and dropped the goods on the bed next to Vincent's shoulder. Vincent left his fly only halfway undone, lifting both flesh and metal hands to rest them, crossed at the wrists, above his head. He held Cid's gaze as he lifted his hips up an inch or two, then relaxed back down, waiting.

It was a hell of an invitation, and Cid gladly took it, working Vincent's fly the rest of the way down and palming the swell of the still trapped erection. Vincent's eyes drooped half mast as he sighed appreciatively, raising his hips again to let pants be pulled all the way down and off his ankles.

"Hey, gorgeous," Cid rumbled, pressing a kiss to the inside of one of Vincent's knees. "Iunno 'bout you, but I didn't go through the whole car wash, so... ya wanna skip some mess?"

Vincent raised his brows, tilting his head as if a different angle would make Cid's meaning clearer. Then his expression smoothed and he nudged his knee against Cid's cheek. "I think you know my habits by now... and that I am not... fond... of messiness." With an upward jerk of his chin, Vincent shifted further up onto the bed. "Come up here and show me what you have in mind."

Keeping his touch light, Cid ran his fingers along the insides of Vincent's thighs. He knelt onto the bed, mouthing his way up pale flesh, feeling Vincent tremble. At the thickest part of his leg, just short of his groin, Cid sucked, hard, eliciting a sharp, " _Oh._ "

Cid let up with an audible wet pop, and blew a breath out over the new red mark. Vincent shuddered, pupils blown wide, lips parted. Grinning, Cid worked his way up, leaving another mark near Vincent's hip, and then his neck, right under the jawline.

Vincent curled his fingers into the hair near the base of Cid's neck, tugging sharply upwards. With little grace, he shoved their mouths together, biting Cid's lower lip and licking at the hurt left behind. Groaning, Cid swiped his tongue out, and deepened the kiss.

Meanwhile, Vincent hooked his false arm behind Cid's back, applying pressure. Cid gladly lowered himself, settling between Vincent's legs, pressing their erections together.

"Ah--" Vincent turned his face away, panting. "Your pants..." He rolled his hips up, dragging the wet tip of his cock along the taut cloth at the edges of Cid's bulge.

"Ah, fuck..." Cid rolled his weight onto his knees, sitting back so he could undo his fly. He yanked his pants and boxers down to his knees, bunching them up. "Better?"

"Mhm." Vincent pushed his hand over the curve of one of Cid's thighs, fingers splayed. "Now... what will you do?"

"Weeell..."

Lowering himself back down, Cid lined their cocks up, taking them in a loose grip. He rocked his hips, watching Vincent's face, taking in the silent _oh_ his mouth formed, eyes closing. He did this a few more times, enjoying the curl of heat, the delicious friction. Vincent squeezed at his thigh, bucking into the touch.

"Can I get ya on your belly?" Cid asked, quiet, nosing at Vincent's jaw.

The question brought hesitation and the wrong kind of tension. Vincent's eyes opened, his hand fell away, and he simply looked at Cid, expression unreadable except for the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"Ya don't g--"

"No, I. I want to. Show me."

Cid caught the reaching hand, laced their fingers together, kissed the back of it while never looking away from red, red eyes. He shifted off of Vincent, kneeling beside rather than over, letting go and making room for the other man to roll onto his stomach. Vincent settled with his arms folded, weight on his elbows, looked over his shoulder at Cid. Smiling, Cid reached out, brushing all that long, long hair out of the way, over the opposite shoulder.

"Okay?"

"Yes."

Cid pressed his lips against Vincent's temple. "Gonna be okay if I'm over ya, starshine?"

In answer, Vincent reached back for him, fingers patting against his leg. Cid eased back over Vincent's legs, cock resting heavily against the curve of his ass, hands braced at either side of him. Cid stayed like that for a moment, forehead against the middle of Vincent's back, letting him get used to the vulnerable position. Vincent gripped his thigh again, up high, near the hip, and Cid covered that hand with his own.

"Get your knees under ya," he said, pulling back enough that Vincent could do it. "Ya want condoms?"

"Ci-- _Chief_ , what are we doing."

Cid put his hands on the outsides of Vincent's legs, rubbing gently. "Squeeze your thighs together." Despite his uncertainty, Vincent did as asked, and Cid leaned forward to cup the other man’s softening erection. He rubbed his hand down, over balls and the clench of thighs. "If ya okay with it... Then I wanna grind, right here."

"Oh." Breathing out a long, shaky exhale, Vincent dropped his head, resting his forehead against the metal arm. Viciously, he pinched the soft fat above Cid's hip. Over the following yelp, he groused, "You could have said as much from the beginning."

"Fuck!" Cid rubbed at the stinging spot, sitting back on his heels. "Sorry. I got into the moment."

"Mhm. Give me a condom, unless you have something to catch the mess."

"Uhhh, I got that t-shirt..."

"That will do."

"Ya _really_ have it out for spice dad," Cid muttered, but snagged the shirt and dropped it into Vincent's waiting hand.

While Vincent spread the shirt out beneath him, lifting one knee at a time to pin it down, Cid busied himself with opening the lube. He didn't want to be fumbling with fiddly foil seals when they'd gotten back into the groove of things, after all.

Vincent looked over his shoulder as he settled down onto both elbows again, arms folded. "You may resume your seduction."

"Hey! Think I already _seduced_." Cupping one firm ass cheek, Cid squeezed. "Right outta your pants."

"And yet." Despite the deadpanned response, the eye Cid could see crinkled at the corners in clear amusement.

That eye snapped open wide when Cid smacked him on the butt. Vincent jerked forward, twisting his upper half around, reaching backwards to snag Cid's wrist. He did not squeeze, or move away, or jerk the offending limb out of its socket, which were all good signs. Still, he looked shocked, a dark flush on his face, and discomfort wasn't the aim.

Cid relaxed in the grip, letting his wrist hang limp. "Woah, sorry."

With a steadying inhale, Vincent closed his eyes, straightening his back and slouching down onto his left elbow. He uncurled his fingers one at a time, releasing Cid. "You keep surprising me."

"Not the kinda surprise I wanna give."

"You will just have to make it up to me."

"Sure thing, darlin'."

Not wanting to crowd Vincent and grind on him yet, Cid settled for wrapping his hand around the other man's forearm and squeezing lightly. In response, Vincent lifted his arm, twisting his wrist so that his palm faced up, and caught Cid's hand. Cid slid his hand along Vincent's hand, lacing their fingers. He laid his cheek against Vincent's back, feeling the tension slowly fading away. The gentle press of Vincent's fingers eased, and he pulled away to put his arm down again.

"...Want me to continue?" Cid asked.

"Yes."

Cid sat up, retrieving the lube from where it'd fallen when he dropped it. He poured a decent amount into his hand, then set the tube aside so he could rub his hands together. Once it no longer felt icy, he reached around to run his fingers up Vincent's thighs. The muscles clenched beneath his hands, and as he pressed closer, he felt a faint tremor. Vincent sighed, head sinking against his arms.

Grinning, Cid explored higher, palming balls in one hand. He massaged them carefully as he settled his other hand against the shaft, mostly soft but swelling steadily under his ministrations. Wherever he touched, he left a trail of lube, slicking things up nicely.

When Vincent arched into his hand with a quiet hum, Cid took it as encouragement to continue. He gripped the base and stroked to the head, thumbing the tip. Knowing Vincent's preference for rough handling already, he only made a few gentle passes before squeezing tighter and starting to jerk with more force. Vincent rocked into his fist, grinding back against him in the process.

Cid groaned, unable to resist rubbing against the firm curve of Vincent's rear. "Ah, shit, yeah."

It took a _lot_ of willpower to stop touching Vincent. The sharp look shot over a shoulder spoke volumes even if no sound was made. Cid kissed Vincent's temple apologetically, quickly wiping the rest of the lube off on his own dick.

"Thighs, honey," Cid murmured, and guided himself between those shapely legs.

He made sure to rub along the perineum, and then the head of his cock slid under Vincent's balls and against the base. The friction made Vincent's thighs clench tighter.

Planting one hand firmly on the bed for balance and the other against the top of Vincent's thigh, fingers splayed, Cid began to pump his hips. Vincent let him go for a couple thrusts without participating, maybe getting used to the new sensation. Then he started rocking back, meeting Cid's thrusts.

Of the two of them, Cid was the noisier, moaning and muffling swears against Vincent's shoulder. The sensations of tight and slick and hot to cool air as he moved were incredible. The feeling of a powerful body working beneath him, shaking and gasping was a rush. Even the rough scratch of his jeans digging into his thighs felt good.

He dragged his nails across Vincent's thigh, eliciting an actual breathy moan, though barely audible.

"Touch yourself, starshine," Cid growled, grabbing a fistful of shirt and pulling it so it wouldn't hang down. "And look at us."

Vincent grunted, head dropping, but did as instructed, shifting his weight onto his left elbow so he could stroke himself. Soon his breath became strangled, punctuated by frequent gasps.

Gripping Vincent's hip, Cid increased the pace and shifted his angle, rutting against the perineum and sac. As he did so, he bit down on Vincent's shoulder, getting a mouthful of synthetic cloth and not caring.

" _Oh._ " Vincent went rigid, arching against Cid's belly. Tremors shook him as Cid chased his own orgasm.

Hot pleasure coiled low in Cid's belly, radiating outwards, setting off sparks at every nerve ending. He grunted, thrusts becoming erratic and sloppy, as he came.

"Oh, fuck," he wheezed, feeling fingers lazily milking him through the aftershocks.

As they came down from their highs, Vincent gingerly shifted, wiping his hand off on a still clean corner of the shirt. He nudged at Cid with his elbow, and Cid slid off to the side, flopping bonelessly with a happy hum.

"Hmm, you look like you enjoyed that," Vincent murmured, voice low and husky.

Cid just beamed at him. "You're so incredible."

The praise seemed to startle and fluster Vincent, as he ducked his head, looking away, and hastily made use of the shirt to wipe his belly and legs off. Cid snagged him by the upper arm, tugging until Vincent relented and laid down with him. 

Nuzzling at the taller man's collarbone, Cid asked, "Want help gettin' cleaned up when I ain't total jelly?"

"...Please."

"Hmmkay."

For several minutes, Cid allowed himself to drowse, basking in the afterglow and soaking up Vincent’s natural warmth. It didn’t matter that his pants were still around his knees, or that cum and lubricant dried out on his groin. He nosed against Vincent’s shoulder, smiling.

“You’re ridiculous, Chief,” Vincent muttered, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Once the other man started squirming uncomfortably, Cid sat up, rubbing at the side of his face. He yanked his pants up, not zipping up, and slid off the bed to retrieve Vincent’s pants. He passed them over, then went to fill the bath and to fetch clean clothes.

Vincent caught him by the elbow, head tilted towards the bathroom door. “You need to get cleaned up too, don’t you?”

“Sure, but I could wait…”

With a slight roll of his eyes, Vincent tugged Cid into the bathroom. They didn't end up using the tub, but Cid had a grand time helping Vincent sponge off and change his shirt without looking.


	28. always just out of reach

The next morning brought too bright sunshine and knocking at the door as the princess herself came for a visit. Cid, not thinking much at all that early, answered the door in his boxers and found that Yuffie wasn't alone. She’d brought her “friends” from the WRO, dressed in plainclothes and laden with bags. Housekeeping brought up the rear, blessedly unfazed. Resigned to the fact that the whole neighborhood knew his underwear preferences, Cid checked to see if Vincent was up, and then, finding the room empty and the bathroom door shut, threw the door open to let the whole parade of people in.

Not five minutes later, he sat alone on the couch, surrounded by bags of clothing, watching Yuffie pace. The WRO agents hadn't even stayed for coffee after turning his day ass over heels. Housekeeping finished in record time and vanished, too.

Vincent, perhaps sensing that it was safe to come out, opened the bathroom door and stepped out. He didn't so much as blink at Yuffie’s exclamation of, “There you are!”

The fight he put up when she swooped over to grab him by the metal wrist was lackluster, only a moment or two of being dead weight. Then he met Cid’s gaze, sighed deep, and let himself be pulled over to the couch.

“Mornin’, starshine,” Cid muttered, offering his mug of coffee, as of yet untouched.

Vincent accepted it only after Yuffie let him go, and sipped at it while watching her tear through the bags like it was the holidays. She soon brandished a set of clothing at each of them.

“My dads should take me out today. Family bonding and all that.”

"Why in the hell would we do somethin' like that?" Cid asked, taking the clothes anyway.

He flipped through the pile, finding it to be a pair of pale blue shorts, a white tank top, socks, boxers, and a gaudily patterned button-up shirt in a gradient of blue with various yellow objects, like chocobos, pineapples, and flowers. A glance over showed him that Vincent's set was much more muted in color, and probably not well suited for the balmy weather.

"Because it'll look totally weird if we _don't_." Yuffie planted her fists on her hips. "Normal families do the whole... forced family obligations thing."

"I suppose we have no choice but to play the parts given to us." Vincent took another drink of coffee, then passed the mug bag to Cid, who set it on the table.

"That's the spirit!"

Yuffie passed a pair of nice dress shoes, a matching belt, and two small jewelry boxes over to Vincent to complete his ensemble. He paused, staring at his costume, and then swept away to the bathroom to change.

While he was in the other room, Yuffie added accessories to Cid's heap of clothes--yellow sneakers with blue laces, a handful of beaded and leather bracelets, a short-brimmed straw hat, and a jewelry box containing a slim silver ring. Cid frowned at that last item, rubbing at his chest next to the dog tags under his shirt. Pretending to be married wasn't a far stretch, but the presentation was wrong for them.

Yuffie asked, "Why so grumpy looking? Don't like yellow?"

"Don't give a shit 'bout the colors."

Instead of waiting for Vincent to come out of the bathroom, Cid went to change in the closet. It was more than big enough, and had a door he could shut in Yuffie's face, interrupting any further interrogation about what might or might not be bothering him. He got dressed quickly, feeling awkward and out of place in such cheerfully fashionable duds.

He stepped out of the closet and stopped dead. Vincent stood on the other side of the room, adjusting the holster of his small handgun underneath a dark blue jacket. His hair was up in a tail again, mostly out of his face. He wore a black tie speckled with silver, a cream vest over an off-white button up shirt, white slacks, the belt, and the shoes. A silver watch on his wrist and the silver wedding band on his finger completed the look.

As if sensing he was being stared at, Vincent glanced over.

"Is this a mission or some kinda specialized torture?" Cid joked, shrugging uncomfortably under the weight of the other man's stare. He felt underdressed.

At least Yuffie dressed more casually, in denim shorts and a loose white tank top over a very colorful swimsuit, with a loose, flowy shawl in a black and white paisley pattern draped over her shoulders. She had a cluster of colorful beads at her neck and wrists, jingling with every move, red sneakers, and a flower headband in her hair.

"Hey, okay, my dads are _finally_ ready. Let's go!!" Yuffie practically dragged them out of the hotel room. "C'mon, c'mon, let's go get some breakfast and then we'll go _sightseeing_."

The two men exchanged looks over the top of Yuffie's head on the elevator ride down. It was going to be a long day.

The first thing Yuffie did on getting them out of the hotel was drag them down the street and around the corner, to a small park. She pointed out a food cart parked by the central fountain, beaming. The chalkboard sign sitting by the cart boasted, _Fresh waffles! ANY topping!!_ For some reason, the cart had an old fashioned brass lamp hanging from the back, lit up with the cheery yellow glow of a small flame.

"Breakfast without the fuss," Yuffie proclaimed, proudly, like she'd invented the idea herself. She kept shooting glances up at Vincent's face, watching for his reaction. "What would you like? I'll get it."

Cid could relate. He looked away, thumbing his nose and hiding a smile. Vincent wasn't fragile and didn't need coddling, but anything that didn't fall squarely into his specialized skillset tended to exhaust--or at least frustrate--him quickly. It was nice watching their friends be mindful of it. And funny when Vincent thwarted their attempts by doing whatever he wanted instead.

Like right then, Vincent eyed the cart for a long moment, willingly touched Yuffie's shoulder with the barest brush of fingertips, and then strode off to get into line. Yuffie stood frozen, mouth open and hand hovering over where she'd been touched.

Smirking, Cid flicked a lock of hair out of her face. "C'mon, kiddo, try to keep up with ya ol' man."

She swatted at his hand, too late to make contact. "What'd you _do_ to him?"

"Uh, no idea whatcha mean."

Making a complicated series of gestures, Yuffie clarified. "He's acting so... nice."

"Eh? He never been anything different..."

"That's cuz you've been practically married for _years_! Of course he's always nice to you."

Cid opened his mouth, not sure if he should protest or not. He noticed Vincent watching them and glancing furtively towards the front of the line, which crept ever closer without either of them. With a shrug at Yuffie, Cid abandoned the conversation in favor of joining Vincent, who relaxed immediately.

Yuffie flailed her arms in silent exasperation, then marched over to join them. She looked a perfect picture of a sullen young woman stuck in the company of her parents.

When they reached the front of the line, a grinning red-headed youth greeted them. "Hiya! How many, three?"

"Yes, please," Vincent answered, bumping his shoulder against Cid's.

With a fond sigh, Cid produced his wallet and passed a card over to pay. The youth rang them up quickly, handing card and receipt back at the same time that he yelled over his shoulder, "Three up!"

The cook in the back of the cart was a much older man, his gingery hair gone pale and streaked with silver. He grunted, low and gravelly, and poured batter into three waffle irons with a flare that likely came of doing it everyday for hours on end.

The pastries were ready almost before Cid finished putting his wallet away. The youth piled them into cardboard serving dishes, lining them up on the prep counter right in front of them.

"Kay, whatcha want? We have everything. Name somethin' we don't and your meal's free." He pointed up, indicating a long chalkboard menu above the window, which listed a variety of specialties. "If ya dunno where to start, maybe try one of those combos."

"I want bananas, walnuts, and chocolate sauce!" Yuffie said, pumping her fist in the air.

"Alright." The youth grabbed a banana from a nearby bowl, peeling and slicing it, then put together the sugary concoction. He stuck a disposable spork and knife into the waffle and passed it over. "Just so yanno, the flatware's an edible cracker. Seagulls love it if ya don't."

Crowing with delight, Yuffie took her food and sidled away. The youth watched her go with amusement, then looked expectantly between Vincent and Cid, maybe wondering which of them would complete their order next. When Cid looked up at Vincent, brow raised, the other man shrugged at him.

"Yeah, alright, gimme the bbq bacon burger," Cid decided.

"Sure thing!"

The youth laid the waffle out on the prep counter and cut it in half. He retrieved a burger patty from where it sizzled on a nearby warmer, laid it on top of one waffle slice, then added chunks of bacon, bbq sauce, tomato slices, grilled onion, and finally topped with the other half of the waffle. The whole mess went back into the cardboard dish, oozing and ready to fall to pieces at the slightest shake. It was perfect and Cid loved it the minute it was in his hands, grease already seeping through the bottom of the cardboard.

Vincent looked down his nose at it. And delicately took a few extra napkins out of the dispenser, tucking them into the front pocket of Cid's shirt.

"Thanks, honey."

"So, what'll it be, mister?" the youth asked, drawing Vincent's attention away.

"Strawberries."

"Oh, strawberry syrup? Or our special with powdered sugar, sweet cream, bananas, and strawberries?"

"No."

The youth blinked, uncertain in the face of Vincent's steady stare. "So... Strawberries and nothing else, sir?"

"Yes."

The grin returned in full force, a little cheeky, as the youth piled a handful of uncut strawberries, their leafy tops still attached, onto the waffle. He offered the dish over, head tilted. Vincent took it, studied it with a blank expression for long enough that the youth began to fidget, and then let himself be led away by Cid and Yuffie closing ranks on either side of him.

They wandered further into the park, away from the crowds, to an empty picnic table. Cid sat next to Vincent with Yuffie directly across from him. Idly rubbing his finger against the tabletop, Cid marveled at how fresh and new it seemed. Not a single scratched engraving. The urge to be the first to desecrate it simmered under his skin, but his burger called out to him.

While Cid wolfed his food down with little finesse, Vincent picked his waffle apart, nibbling disinterestedly, and Yuffie ate hers with a curious amount of delicacy and grace, managing not to make much mess at all.

At first, Cid didn't pay much attention to their surroundings. Vincent was always on the lookout, and Cid trusted him to say something if there were danger. But the longer Yuffie stayed silent while eating, watching the people passing more than her own food, the more it became obvious that Cid should be taking notice of... something. He took a big bite of his burger and looked around as he chewed.

The waffle cart got a _lot_ of traffic. The breakfast rush didn't seem to be slowing down at all. The park's pathways bustled with a steady stream of people coming and going. Because Gongaga had become a resort town, the sheer variety of people was staggering. Hair, skin, and eye colors of every shade; face and body types from the world over; and even the styles of clothes were beyond number.

"...Why does this feel weird?" Cid muttered, between bites.

Yuffie bobbed her knife. "There's so many people for it being so early in the season."

"There are repeats," Vincent added.

Frowning, Cid shoved the last bite of his food into his mouth. He plucked the napkins from his pocket and busied himself with wiping away grease and barbecue sauce. Then, dropping the napkins in the empty cardboard dish, he twisted around to sit with his elbows propped on the table, watching the crowd more closely.

Sure enough, more than a few people came back, sometimes in different outfits and sometimes not, as brazen as could be. There were too many of them for Cid to discount it as deliveries being run.

"We linger too long, someone start gettin' suspicious," Cid said, voice pitched low. Louder, he declared, "Long day of sightseeing, let's go, slowpokes!"

Yuffie gave a very convincing teenaged whine. “Ugggghh, _dad_.”

Vincent collected their trash and took it to the nearby bins. The normal trash bin was overflowing, as few visitors bothered to separate out their recycling. Frowning over it, Vincent carefully upended the food into the heap, then dropped the paper products into the correct, and nearly empty, recycling bin. When he returned, he shook his head in silent disgust, giving Cid a tired look.

"Fucked, innit?" Cid stuck his hands in his pockets, looking skyward.

Yuffie came between them, hooking her arms through theirs. "It sucks, but there's nothing we can do about it right now. So, c'mon, you old worrywarts!" She started walking, tugging at their arms until they moved. "There's a tour bus that goes to the historical district."

"Assumin' that's the old village?"

"Yep."

She led them from the park, releasing them once they were on the street again in order to walk a few steps ahead of them. With nothing between them, the two men drifted close enough that their arms brushed now and then. Cid grinned up at Vincent and got a slow, pleased blink in return.

The tour started at a museum a few blocks from the park. A sizable crowd of tourists in all manner of colorful clothing stood in a loose cluster, chattering and fanning themselves with brochures. Yuffie went to get their tickets at the automated machine on the corner, leaving Cid and Vincent to stand awkwardly at the edge of the crowd.

The bus rolled up a few minutes later. Its sides were painted bright orange with red and yellow flowers in a gradient and shape that almost looked like flames. A dark blue stripe down either side proclaimed it to be the _Gongaga Party Bus_ , and cheery classic surfer tunes blasted from the speakers. A dark woman in a bikini top and a striped sash tied at her waist stepped out of the bus with a megaphone in hand.

"Hiya, you lot!!" she called, voice echoing from the megaphone's feedback. "Can I get you to line up, yeah, that's it! Thanks, okay, present your tickets and we'll get this party on the road!!"

"Chief," Vincent said, voice quiet and strained.

"Gonna be okay?"

"Don't worry, dad." Yuffie held up their tickets. "I got the back seats."

The back seats turned out to be one long bench with ample leg room owing to the back exit on one side. Cid took the middle, slouching with his arms folded and legs stretched out as he looked down the middle aisle. Vincent sat on his right, near the exit, and Yuffie took the remaining space. Unfortunately, two speakers sat directly above them, and Vincent sat tense and uncomfortable until the music shut off, to be replaced with the voice of their tour guide.

"Welcome to the Gongaga tour, folks," she said, as the driver pulled out into the road. "It's a beautiful 73 degrees out, a perfect day for sightseeing. We'll be passing the beach on the right in just a moment, where you can see..."

Cid tuned her voice out, watching Vincent instead of the beach rolling by in the background. Though still on edge, he at least didn't seem likely to wrench the doors off its hinges and jump out of the bus. Vincent noticed he was being watched as they slowed to let tourists take pictures of a lighthouse. He tucked his chin, leaning towards Cid.

"Alright, Mitchell?"

"Sure, how 'bout you, K-kazuo?"

Vincent curled his talons into a fist, setting the back of his metal hand against Cid's knee. He looked out the window, watching the lighthouse dwindle in the distance. Cid laid his hand against the wrist joint of the prosthetic, since they couldn't hold hands.

"Gaia, you guys are disgustingly sweet," Yuffie muttered, smiling.

"Let yer dear ol' dads be," Cid retorted.

The tour bus took a winding road going uphill above the beaches. The guide talked at length about the many opportunities the ocean provided them, including the unique forms of entertainment available to visitors. Already people were out on the water in watercraft of all kinds, little specks drifting across the shimmering blue surface.

Yuffie twisted around in her seat, folding her arms along the back. She gasped, pointing out parasailers careening through the air, their colorful parachutes making bright spots against the sky.

While she was distracted, Vincent leaned towards Cid and asked, "Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"The ocean of your youth."

Cid stared blankly through the window, unseeing but for the blinding flashes of sunlight off the waves. "...sometimes." He shrugged a shoulder, turning his face away, and blinked uselessly at the sunspots streaked across his vision.

The bus drove on, into wealthier neighborhoods, leaving the beaches behind. Cid's thoughts stayed back there, on beaches that stopped being safe years ago. Vincent nudged at his leg, pressing their arms together, and said nothing.

"...and on the left, the home Gongaga's very own mayor," the tour guide said. "Born in Costa del Sol, Mayor Camila moved to Midgar to work with the Urban Development department of ShinRa Electric Power Company..."

Many of the passengers made disgusted noises, shifting around in their seats.

"Yes, yes, I understand. I assure you, our mayor did everything she could to better to lives of those in Midgar. In fact, thanks to her, many lives were saved during Meteorfall!"

Cid scoffed, dragging his thumb down the bridge of his nose and down the side, to the corner of his lip. He had to bite his thumb to keep from saying anything, as both his companions shifted at either side of him. Yuffie huffed with deep annoyance. Vincent palmed the lower half of his face, gazing out the window again.

"Don't remember no Camila," Cid whispered.

What he remembered was the heady adrenaline of a battle well fought, blasting up out of the crater with death on their asses. Later, watching the meteor descending and aching with the need to see a familiar red cloak, not knowing if he'd ever see his friend again.

"Cait might," Yuffie said, fiddling with her phone.

As the tour continued on, the guide talked at length about the residents of other houses, most of them minor celebrities from elsewhere in the world. She claimed some of the local politicians as people whose families originally hailed from Gongaga, which naturally brought them to their homeland when the city needed them.

Not a single one of the wealthy were born and raised there. None of them felt the loss of lives when the reactor exploded.

“Whatcha think, Kazuo?”

Vincent pulled his gaze from the windows, regarding Cid for a long time. He didn't speak until the tour guide’s voice blathered on from the speakers, and even then, he leaned to speak close to Cid’s ear, lest someone overhear him.

“Money buries all unpleasant memories."


	29. blood on the floor

As the tour continued, they passed from residential areas through the shopping district and out to the edge of town. The guide pointed out fisheries closer to the coast, sawmills further inland, and even a glimpse of a mine up in the mountains.

"So you see, Gongaga thrives on the wealth of the land and the generosity of visitors!" the guide chirruped.

Where the jungle had been hacked down, farmland sprang up. The bus quickly drove past the fields, which were barren and empty, already harvested. Teams of people were out there already preparing the fields for the next crop, as the growing season only stopped for a month.

Cid closed his eyes, folding his arms and clutching at his biceps. At his side, Yuffie bounced her leg. Vincent sat rigid and still, head down. They made an unhappy picture, but not one anyone questioned. Families had little dramas all the time.

Soon enough, the bus returned to civilization. A sign indicated they'd reached the historic district, and the bus parked in a lot behind it.

"The party bus will be returning to the Gongaga Museum in five minutes," the guide said. "If you would instead like to get off here and explore the historic district, you may do so now. For a small fee, you can take a guided tour on foot, just pay at the kiosk!"

Yuffie jostled Cid as the bus doors opened. "We should get off here."

"Yeah, alright."

They piled off the bus, but rather than join the other tourists in line for the kiosk, they headed off down the street on their own. Yuffie walked ahead, arms swinging at her sides. Her shawl thing fluttered with her movement; she seemed antsy and on edge. Vincent, too, though he expressed it in icy silence and efficient movement that wasted no energy.

And Cid did what he always did, which was swear until he was blue in the face.

"Man, fuckin'... tearin' down all those trees. Shit. What the fuck they growin' out here, ain't no fuckin' way this town made enough to become the next goddamn resort hell. Who the fuck's fundin' this shit. Fuck!"

After spending so much time in the rest of the city, coming back to the original heart of Gongaga, where very little had changed, was disorienting. All of the streets and buildings remained exactly the same, though some homes had little plaques on the outside inviting visitors to tour the insides. Homes without those signs looked shabbier, and all of them had the shades drawn down. Some even had very tall privacy fences and _No trespassing_ signs.

"Man, it must suck putting up with tourists." Yuffie scuffed her shoes on the sidewalk. "No wonder no one's talked."

With so little to see, they ended up in the cemetery, which had tripled in size and sprawled over the hills and seemed too tightly packed to fit any more bodies. Cid stood respectfully back near the gate, hands in his pockets, while Vincent and Yuffie meandered along the trails between graves. He watched the clouds drift by and tried to ignore the slow build of craving for nicotine.

"Hey, dad! Mitch!"

Cid flinched at the nickname, a sharp shock of cold chills running down his spine. Blood roared in his ears, sounding eerily like the buzz of planes flying overhead, one trailing smoke as it arced down, down, down--

" _Dad_ ," Yuffie said, suddenly there, suddenly clutching his elbow. "You okay?"

He looked at her, unseeing. Everything seemed washed out and far away still. Blood dripped down the side of her face, over her closed eye. The silks she wore were smoke stained and a patch of crimson crept across her middle. In a minute, she would open her mouth and blood would pour out and she would ask, _why?_

 _I'm sorry,_ stuck in his throat. _Wrong place, wrong time._

Red eyes filled his vision. He blinked, confused at the sudden change, and jerked away at the sensations of fingers digging into the flesh over his heart. His chest lurched, seizing painfully, black spots sparking across his vision because he couldn't _breathe_ , he was choking on ichor, smoke burning down the back of his throat.

"W-- _stop_ ," he wheezed.

Vincent's voice, low and gentle, "Stay with me, Chief."

Ground control calling him back down from altitudes of 40,000 feet and rising, before he left the safe blue skies of the planet's atmosphere. Cid sucked down one harsh breath, let out a whooping cough, and struggled through the following breaths with cold metal pressed to his forehead and warm fingers digging into his pulse point and red eyes pinning him in place.

Little by little, breathing became easier. His surroundings became more real, less distant and washed out. He grabbed Vincent's hand, squeezing, turning his face into the palm to inhale against the warmth of skin. He shut his eyes as the world tilted, letting the fingers curling over his face with such tender care set it to rights again.

Slender hands flapped near his elbow, Yuffie yammering softly, "I'm sorry, I didn't know, please be okay, Captain, I won't do it again--"

"'M okay," Cid croaked. "Did it... to myself." He let out a rusty laugh, shoulders sagging. " _Mitchell_. Not the other. Okay?"

"Sure, yeah, no problem. Sorry."

He threw his arm around her shoulders, dragged her into a rough hug. "Shut up. S'fine."

Yuffie went limp in his grip for a moment, then flung her arms around his neck, hugging like she meant to choke the life out of him. "Stupid," she muttered, and maybe she meant him or herself or the whole damn situation. Then she shoved away, stalking stiff legged off out of reach like a cat that'd been wronged.

Cid met Vincent's gaze, shrugging a little uncomfortably in the aftermath.

"We found something interesting," Vincent said, releasing Cid from having to talk about it. He inclined his head back towards the graves.

"Lead on, starshine."

As he followed Vincent, he dug out a cigarette and his lighter. Anxiety lingered low in his veins, buzzing. His fingers trembled as he lit the tip of the cigarette. He snapped the lighter shut with an audible click as he inhaled smoke.

"So disrespectful," Yuffie muttered, behind him.

"Ain't plannin' on burnin' the place down, kiddo."

Their destination was on the far end of the cemetery, where a grave sat precariously atop the hill, overlooking the village. Yellow flowers sprouted around the tombstone, swaying in the breeze. The name on the stone was familiar, but he couldn't place it. Cid frowned, running his tongue against the backs of his teeth, chasing down the itch of faded memories.

"Hey, ain't that Cloud's... No, sweet pea's--"

A man's silhouette at her back, his laughter quiet. He never spoke to Cid, not in all the times he'd stumbled into the flower field. But that man was there, always ready to help.

"Yeah!" Yuffie piped up. "That's the guy."

"Huh. Well, whaddya know."

The hill overlooked the historic district well enough that they could see the procession of tourists following their guide, a gaggle of baby ducks with flash photography. They could also see into some of the private backyards, including one almost directly beneath Fair's tombstone. An older person puttered around, attending to a thriving garden of yellow. They paused, shading their eyes, and peered up.

"Check it out," Cid said, raising his hand to wave.

He expected to be rebuffed, but the person down below waved back, and then motioned for them to come on down.

Yuffie bounced on her toes. "No way this is coincidence." She turned and walked back towards the cemetery gates.

"Fate marks certain people, certain places," Vincent murmured. "Humans are doomed to repeat sins again and again until we learn."

"Yeah, well, we're here to put a stop to that shit."

Cid took a pull from his cigarette, and handed it over when Vincent held his hand out for it. Vincent finished it, then stubbed it out in the palm of his false hand. As he exhaled smoke, he withdrew a handkerchief and wrapped the butt in it. He put it in his pocket, bumped his arm against Cid's, and then moved off to follow Yuffie.

With one last look at the name on the tombstone, Cid strolled after his friends, hands in his pockets. He didn't know what to expect when they reached the house with yellow flowers, but anything was better than the nothing he'd thought they'd return to the hotel with. As nice as all the luxury time to goof off was, he itched to be doing something more active, and he chafed under the disguise.

The person turned out to be an old man with a scruffy silver beard and kind eyes. He waited for them at his yard's gate and let them in just before the gaggle of tourists came around the corner.

"Did you know my son?" the man asked, stumping towards the house.

Both Vincent and Yuffie looked to Cid, deferring to him, so he admitted, "No."

The old man paused, hand on the front door, and frowned at them. "Then what were you doing up there?"

"We knew his girlfriend." Cid didn't know the particulars of Cloud's relationship to Fair, and he didn't know if hazarding a guess to Fair's parents would get them anywhere, but sweet pea always seemed to be the key to everything.

"Oh... that girl... She never stopped writing, right to the end." Nodding, the old man went inside and held the door open for them. "We were sorry to hear of her passing."

"Hurt more'n ya can know," Cid muttered.

The house was small and cluttered, faintly musty beneath the cloying scent of flowers. The "we" the old man meant must have included the white haired woman snoozing in an armchair with an old dented fan blowing in her face. An air conditioner clanked noisily in the back, doing a poor job of keeping the temperature livable. The wall near the sleeping woman was covered in photographs of a black haired boy, though they seemed to end abruptly, with no sign that Fair ever made it to adulthood.

"Come and have a seat." The old man gestured to the tiny dining table in the back, as he went towards an ancient fridge. "I have lemonade or..." He opened the fridge, frowned inside, and shrugged. "Tap water."

"Lemonade's fine, thanks," Yuffie chirped, claiming the least wobbly of the kitchen chairs.

As Vincent perched awkwardly on one of the other chairs, tensing when it tilted ominously to the left, Cid strayed towards the A/C, unable to help himself. He tipped his head, listening to the clanking and sputtering with a furrowed brow.

"Sounds like ya got some loose parts in there."

"Oh, yeah." The old man nodded, setting out mismatched cups. He filled them with the kind of lemonade that still had slices of fruit floating in it. "Not had the money to get someone out to look at it."

"If ya got the tools, I can help."

"Dad," Yuffie said, an edge in her tone.

The old man shook his head. "Couldn't possibly trouble a guest with something like that."

"Wouldn't be any trouble." Cid jammed his hands in his pockets and pretended he didn't see the less than subtle _cut it out_ gestures Yuffie made. "I enjoy tinkerin' with machinery."

"Oh, guests," a croaky voice said from the living room. The woman blinked sleepily as four sets of eyes turned on her, and smiled, gap-toothed and warm. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You need your sleep, dear," the old man said, shuffling to her side to help her up.

"Not so much that I'd want to sleep right through _guests_."

The woman had a walker, which she used to hobble with surprising speed over to the kitchen table. She settled into the chair opposite of Vincent and Yuffie, beaming, and accepted a glass of lemonade with a soft, fond murmur at her husband. "So, what brings you to our humble abode?"

"They knew our boy's girlfriend, dear."

"Oh, that poor girl..." The woman nodded sadly and took a sip of her lemonade. "I suppose you came to learn more about our boy?"

Cid nodded emphatically at Yuffie, so she put on her best smile and answered, "That would be great!"

While the woman went off down memory lane, Cid nodded towards the air conditioner, eyeing the old man. "Let's go have a look at this thing, huh?"

"I-- yes, sure." The old man patted his wife's arm gently, then led Cid out the back door.

The old man took Cid to a little tin shed at the very back of the yard. Walking past so many yellow flowers felt like dreaming again. He could almost hear her voice chiding him for getting lost.

The inside of the shed was packed too full to enter, but what they needed sat propped on some boxes right by the door. The old man passed a toolbox so old that its red paint had faded to orange and a crate containing miscellaneous parts for the air conditioner, some of it little more than rusty scrap.

"I've got some filters somewhere in here," the old man muttered, shifting a box aside. "Ah, there."

Cid eyed the precariously leaning stacks of boxes. "We'll get em later if we end up needin' em."

"Of course." Smiling, the old man left well enough alone and led the way to the side of the house, where a positively ancient air conditioner clung to the window with the very real threat of collapse.

Cid plunked the crate and toolbox down, putting his hands on his hips. As alarming as the rusty supports, the water spurting everywhere, and the rattling clunks were, the first thing they needed to do was...

"Hey, Kazuo! Turn the fuckin' A/C off, wouldja?" he shouted through the side.

He couldn't hear anything on the other side because of how loud the A/C was. And then he could. The roller spun, groaning to a halt after the power was cut. He could faintly hear the muffled voices of the old woman and Yuffie talking.

"Anything else, Chief?" Vincent peered through the crack between the air conditioner and the window.

"Not yet, thanks."

Half convinced the damn thing would collapse on him, Cid got a screwdriver from the toolbox and wedged one of the sides off to have a look inside. It was a mess of old belts, ancient parts, long dead filters. But the engine looked salvageable, and he was pretty sure the parts he needed to fix it were in the box. Cid got to work stripping broken parts out.

The old man stood off to the side, supervising from the shade. It was hot out, and Cid didn't want to mess up his clothes too badly, so he shed the button up shirt, leaving it draped over the fence.

In a quiet moment when Cid crouched by the toolbox with a motor component in one hand, the old man said, "You lot... are more than you say, aren't you?"

Cid looked up. "Uh?"

"You have the eyes of a SOLDIER."

"I'm not fuckin' SOLDIER."

The old man tapped the side of his neck, just above the shirt collar. "Then what do your tags say?"

Glancing down, Cid realized the chain was visible, and so too was the lump of tags under his tank top. "Shit." He shrugged. "We _are_ friends. Saved the planet for her. For him, too, I guess, even if I didn't know it back then."

"That makes you..."

"Don't say it, mister. Iunno what's goin' on in this town but it's better if we're just old friends of your son's and that's it. Just in case."

With the old man's gaze prickling on his back, Cid started to put the air conditioner back together. The conversation died for a while, as Cid made trips between the A/C and the shed, bringing the filters out and claiming old lawn mower belts and a jar of nuts and bolts. He found some solid plywood planks stacked alongside the shed and claimed that too, so he could add better supports for the A/C.

When he finished patching things up the best he could, Cid hollered, "Okay, Kaz, turn it on!"

The air conditioner clicked, then groaned to life. Still noisy as hell, but no longer rattling and shaking like it might fall or explode at any given moment. Less water leaking, too.

"’Kay, let's go see if this damn thing's runnin' cold." Cid grabbed his shirt, tossing it over his shoulder, and sauntered inside with the old guy on his heels.

The air inside was indeed much cooler. Cid grinned, satisfied, and went to wash up to a chorus of grateful murmurs from the old couple. He waved off offers of payment, but accepted a glass of lemonade and a seat.

"So," the old man said. "You think something is happening in this town?"

Yuffie shot Cid a look. Vincent folded his arms, not looking at anyone or anything in particular. Cid just shrugged and drank his lemonade.

The old guy sighed. “You might be right." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and smiled wanly when his wife touched his shoulder. "Gongaga has changed so much, ever since those wealthy people showed up..."

"Who are they?" Yuffie asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

"Immigrants." At the trio of tense looks, the old man waved his hands, sheepish. "Oh, I don't mean to come off like _that_ , but this group all moved here from up north. Took over real quick."

"Where from?"

"Costa del Sol."

Yuffie tapped her fingers against her lips, brow furrowed with thought. She looked to Cid and Vincent. "Where the mayor is from..."

"Exactly. She's one of them. Our Mayor Camila... I forget the others' names, but they put themselves in positions of power."

Cid ran his finger down the side of his cup, leaving a line in the condensation "They do any shady shit?"

"Well, no, I don't think so...?"

"They're _definitely_ breaking some laws though, did you _see_ all that litter?" Yuffie puffed her cheeks, gesturing widely. "And the farms!!"

"Yeah, but that shit's for the courts and wealthy fucks to duke out." Cid shrugged. "Ain't what we're after."

The old woman asked, "What _are_ you after?"

“To protect the planet, but best keep outta it.”

"Costa del Sol," Vincent said, making everyone else turn to look at him. "If they all came from there, then we should investigate."

Cid grinned. "Gonna have a blast visitin' all these resort towns, Kaz."

Vincent sighed.


	30. sirens repeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look out, dad bodies on display in swim wear.

With no further reason to stick around, they bid farewells and went to wait for a bus at the stop. Cid sprawled on the bench, fanning himself with his hat. Vincent sat primly next to him, looking disgustingly unbothered by the heat, even though he wore so many layers.

Yuffie scuffed the heels of her shoes on the pavement, arms behind her head, and squinted up at the sky. "You think we should look into the mayor?"

"Nah-uh." Cid hawked a loogie off to the side. "Not our job."

"What if she knows something?"

"Prolly does. She sees us comin', she'll warn whoever's in on it before we get out to Costa del Sol."

Yuffie puffed her cheeks, pacing up and down the sidewalk. "This is so stupid, we could be leaving bad guys _right there_..."

"Sometimes it is necessary to choose your battles," Vincent said.

Cid put his hat on and sat up. "Here comes the bus."

"Ugh, if we're choosing to run away, does that mean we're leaving today?"

"Iunno. Ya think anyone took notice of us?"

"If they did, it will look strange if we take off so soon." Vincent sighed, standing as the bus pulled up with a hiss of pneumatic brakes. "I hate the idea, but we might have to endure this humid hell for longer..."

They got onto the bus, buying tickets at the machine near the driver's seat. The very back seats were occupied, so they had to make do somewhere in the middle. Although it penned him in, Vincent took a window seat to avoid dealing with passengers bumping into him at stops. His leg bounced the whole ride back to the hotel.

After they piled out of the bus and watched it drive away, Cid looked down at Yuffie. "Well, girlie, yer show. Anything ya wanna do before we leave town?"

"We should go to the beach! You guys haven't been yet, right?"

"Lemme guess, yer friends got us bathin' suits..."

"Yep!"

Sighing, Cid rubbed at the side of his neck and turned towards Vincent. Yuffie leaned forward to peer around Cid with her hands folded behind her back and a big, hopeful grin on her face. Vincent stared back, expression blank, for several minutes.

"C'mon, dad, please?" Yuffie tried.

"...Depends on the swimsuit," Vincent eventually allowed, and strode inside.

"Hooray! This is gonna be great." Yuffie dashed after Vincent, arms swinging. "We're gonna have so much fun!"

Cid followed at a more leisurely pace, hands in his pockets. He nodded absent-minded thanks when Vincent held the elevator door open for him.

The last time he'd gone to the beach had been a year or two ago, when the gang met up for one last hurrah in the house Cloud used to own in Costa del Sol. A buyer had offered more than the house's worth, and Tifa wanted to celebrate. Vincent hadn't shown up until late in the night, effectively avoiding the sunny afternoon of lolling around in swimsuits.

Glancing sidelong at the other man as they walked to their shared room, Cid wondered if it would really be okay. If Vincent would bail at the last second.

"Alright, Chief?" Vincent asked, after they got into the room and closed the door.

Cid shrugged, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Just worryin' 'bout ya."

"I won't dissolve into seafoam because of a little sun."

"That a joke? Didn't know ya had it in ya."

"Ha."

Vincent moved over to the couch to pick through the bags of clothes. He began to sort them out into piles draped over the back of the couch. Cid dropped onto the end of the couch and soon found himself with a lapful of socks and underwear. Aside from an excess of underthings, the WRO had provided them each with about three shirts, two pants, and an odd assortment of accessories. Plus the swimsuits. The exact amount of necessities a vacationing family might need for a weekend out.

Pinched between forefinger and thumb, Vincent held up a dainty, colorful scrap of cloth, too wide for his hips. "This must be yours..."

"Aw, hell." Cid snagged it, stretching it between his hands. The fabric was very stretchy and had a faint shiny sheen to it. The pattern was tropical flowers, pink and blue and yellow. "Guess I'm goin' on display."

With something like relief in his voice, Vincent announced, “I’m not.”

He held up a thin, long sleeved shirt that was black with thick white stripes on the sleeves. A matching pair of striped swim trunks with long legs confirmed that whoever shopped had been told of Vincent’s preferences.

“So that a yes to goin’ to the beach, starshine?”

“Only if you're comfortable in that little rag.” Vincent draped his swimsuit over his mechanical arm, tilting his head. “And I get to appreciate the view first.”

Cid grinned, reveling in the warm curl of want pooling low in his gut. “Don't think our girl will give us time for foolin’ ‘round, dear.” He stood up, crowding close to Vincent.

“A pity.” Red, red eyes slid half shut, watching him with a healthy amount of interest. “I hope you can get through a day out without… embarrassment.”

A flick of fingers and Vincent stepping away dismissed Cid to the bathroom to wash up and change.

Speedos had never been his preference, but he didn't particularly mind. Probably whoever did the shopping thought themselves funny, putting one “dad” in clothes that revealed nothing more risque than ankles and calves and the other in something that left very little to the imagination. They might have expected him to be self-conscious about his body, but the joke was on them.

Cid rearranged himself carefully and eyed the effect in the mirror. A little too bare for the trip out to the beach. And he was going to have to leave his tags behind, or else someone might see. He grabbed his shoes, socks, and the garish button-up shirt, and headed back out to the main room.

Vincent perched on the end of the bed, leaning back on his metal arm. The swimsuit sat next to him, neatly folded. Cid hesitated, feeling pinned under the other man's gaze. Squaring his shoulders, he walked over to stand in front of Vincent, figuring they'd already seen--and touched-- each other with less on. A flimsy floral barrier was nothing.

"Ya satisfied, or do ya me to do a lil' turn 'round?" Cid asked, dumping his things on the bed.

Silent, Vincent lifted his hand, pointing at the ground with his forefinger. The corner of his mouth curled when he twirled that finger slowly.

“Asshole.”

There was _no_ way he was gonna be able to think of anything but the way Vincent looked at him. He turned around, folding his arms, and tried to ignore the flush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck.

“I’m only teasing.” Vincent curled his arms around Cid’s middle and pulled until he could settle his weight against Cid’s back and his chin on a muscled shoulder. “I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.” Cid patted at Vincent’s arm, resting his palm against the back of the other man’s hand on the last pat. “I’m flattered, but uh…”

A hard, rapid knocking at the door interrupted what he’d been about to say. He pulled away, grinning sheepishly at Vincent.

“Better get a move on, Kazuo.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Vincent collected his swimsuit and fled to the bathroom. Cid donned his button-up shirt on the way to the door. Yuffie stood on the other side, fist raised to knock. She had a large woven bag under one arm, and a big straw hat on her head.

“Woah, that’s brave, dad.” She rocked to one side, peering past him to the empty room. “Guess my other dad isn't ready yet? Geez, you guys are so _slow_.”

“Yeah, yeah, get in here.”

Cid stood aside, letting her pass, then shut the door. Immediately, she spun back, rummaging in her bag, and shoved a bottle of sun lotion into his hand.

“Go tell him to hurry up, and make sure you're both protected from the sun!!”

"Uh, okay."

While Yuffie made herself at home on the couch, Cid went to knock on the bathroom door. Vincent let him in after a moment, eyeing the sunblock with a slight nose wrinkle. He was already in the swim trunks but not yet out of the gun harness and button-up shirt. After the door closed behind Cid, Vincent made him stand facing the closed bathroom door until the arduous process of changing shirts was done.

"Alright, Chief. You can help me with my hair and that... stuff." Vincent leaned his hip against the sink, arms folded. The rashguard showed every swell of muscles, as well as the bumpy scar tissue and the dog tags hidden underneath.

"Not a fan?" Cid asked, closing the distance and setting the bottle of sunblock in the sink. He didn't know much about pulling hair into a tail, come to think. "Hey, howsabout a braid? Marlene's been a good teacher on that front."

"That's fine."

Cid dragged the bath stool over and made Vincent sit on it. He found a comb, brush, and hair ties waiting on the edge of the sink and got to work. Vincent relaxed into getting his hair fussed at. Cid reveled in getting to touch as much as he wanted.

He tied the end of the braid off when he finished and let it thump against Vincent’s back. When Vincent turned to look, Cid pressed a kiss against his temple.

“Time for the goop, starshine.”

Between the two of them, they managed to get every inch of skin slathered up and rubbed down. Cid kept his thoughts on unsexy things and, thankfully, Vincent kept his touching minimal and business-like, so they didn't end up taking even longer. Knowing Yuffie would probably hear was a mood-killer, too.

"Finally!" Yuffie bounced up off of the couch on seeing them come out. She caught the bottle of sunblock when Cid tossed it at her and stowed it in her bag. "Let's go!"

"Hold ya horses," Cid grumbled, going to pull his shoes on. He also tucked his wallet and phone into the front pocket of his shirt, just in case. he hesitated over his tags and decided to stow them in the bedside table. "Hey, Kaz, ya might wanna do somethin' 'bout the dog tags."

Vincent touched at the lump beneath his shirt, brow furrowing. With extreme reluctance, he pulled the chain off, thumbing at the tags. He also held the gun and holster loosely in his metal claw, clearly wanting to bring it despite the impracticality.

"Give it here," Yuffie said, opening her bag of holding up. "Promise I won't steal. And put these on." She offered a pair of water shoes, the kind that had rubber soles and thin netting.

Clearly relieved, Vincent exchanged his valuables for the shoes. He regarded them for a moment before deciding, "These are hideous."

Yuffie laughed at him while burying the gun and tags in the bottom of the bag, beneath the towels. "Sure, but you can wear 'em into the water!"

"Hn."

Despite his reservations, Vincent put the footwear on. He then stood with his hands on his hips, twisting his heel against the carpet. Cid came to stand next to him, watching with amusement until Yuffie grabbed them by the wrists and dragged them out of the hotel.

"C'mon, c'mon, daylight's wasting!" she crowed, herding them back out into the sunshine.

They walked to the beach and didn't look a bit out of place in the crowds of tourists. The closer they got to the beach, the less clothes people wore.

"Damn, some of these kids're wearin' even less than me."

Cid scratched at the scruff along his jaw, watching a girl in what looked like string go bouncing by, her equally under-dressed boyfriend chasing with an inflatable donut under his arm. Vincent crowded closer to Cid's side as the youths went laughing by.

When they reached the boardwalk, Yuffie made a stop at a convenience stand to buy snacks and drinks and to rent a big red-and-white parasol. She made Cid carry the latter; he propped it on his shoulder like a spear.

"Okay, let's find a good spot!"

_A good spot_ turned out to be very far down the beach, practically in the shadow of the cliff with the lighthouse. Hardly anyone ventured out that far.

"Not bad," Cid commented, and planted the umbrella. "Whatcha think, Kaz?"

Vincent wandered away, head tipped back. "It's quieter than I expected."

"Of course!" Yuffie posed with her arm curled in a flex. "You old guys don't think it's fun rubbing elbows with noisy tourists, right? Right."

"Yeah, yeah, gimme the towels."

She dropped the bags under the umbrella. "Are you guys gonna swim?"

"Not yet, Inoe," Vincent answered.

Cid pulled the towels out and spread them out. He flopped on his back on one, folding his arms under his head, ankles crossed. "Nope, I'm good."

"No fun! Fine, I'm gonna go play with those kids." Yuffie pointed back the way they'd come, to where a noisy cluster of young adults were involved in a complicated game that involved riding each others' shoulders, knocking one another down, and bouncing a ball around. "I'll come back when you're ready to be interesting."

Vincent looked over his shoulder at her. "You might be waiting a while."

"That's okay, a princess like me is a master of patience!"

Then it was just the two of them, one settled as if to nap in the shade and the other standing tensely out in the sun. Cid relaxed onto the scratchy towel, feeling the familiar shift of sand on the other side of the cloth. He watched Vincent's back, admiring how straight the spine ran, all the way up to broad shoulders. The warm ocean breeze tugged at the loose bangs around Vincent's face as he dropped his head back, soaking up the sun he never indulged in.

It was kind of funny, swapping places like that. Cid should be the one eagerly seeking out the sun, staring longingly to the ocean, but he just felt tired. Warm and sleepy and ready to doze.

Vincent's love affair with the sun was short-lived. He ducked under the parasol, kneeling on the towel next to Cid. His hands fisted against his thighs; he looked like he didn't know how to get comfortable.

"Do you want to nap?"

"Mebbe a lil," Cid admitted. "Ya wanna do somethin'?"

"In a while. Rest."

"Okay... Don't let me sleep too long."

Cid shifted onto his side, pillowing his head on his arm, and closed his eyes, listening to the roll of waves, the distant shouts of people enjoying themselves, and eventually the shift of sand as Vincent settled down properly. He cracked one eyelid open to find the other man watching the sea, expression distant but not melancholy. Then Cid let himself sleep, safe in the knowledge that Vincent wasn't suffering for being out of his element.

He woke later to the sound of Yuffie's voice, bright, happy, and not disgustingly loud; and Vincent's deeper voice, steady and relaxed. Yawning, Cid gave a full-body stretch, then opened his eyes to find a water bottle held inches from his nose. Yuffie waggled it, sloshing the liquid inside. He took it, opened it, and drank about half of it in one go.

“Geez, dad, did you wear him out last night?” she asked, casting a sardonic look at Vincent.

With a lazy shrug, Vincent answered, “I might have.”

Over the loud “Ewwww!”, Cid grumbled. “Don’t ask questions ya ain’t want the answers to.”

“I didn’t think he’d _answer_!” Yuffie waved her arm wildly in Vincent’s direction. “He was always so secretive before you came along and made him all… _nice_ and _happy_ or whatever!”

“Do you not want me to be happy?” Vincent wondered, tilting his head.

“Wow, what the fuck kinda daughter ya been raisin’, Kaz?”

“An unnecessarily cruel one, clearly.”

Yuffie slapped the flat of her palm onto the sand between her towel and Vincent’s, scattering grains all over them. “UGH, you know that's not what I _meant_!”

Flicking sand away, Vincent dryly said, “Use your words, daughter dearest.”

Out of spite, she scooped up a handful of sand and poured it on his towel, staring him right in the eye while she did it. Cid let out a whoop of surprised laughter when Vincent lunged. Yuffie deftly rolled away and went running for the water; Vincent didn't hesitate, pursuing her with the same deadly grace as usual, like he wasn't in billowing swim trunks and rubber shoes. He caught her when the water got up to her waist, slowing her down. But she wasn't done, throwing her weight just right to bring them both down, causing a huge splash.

Cid’s laughter cut off then. He shrugged his shirt off and scrambled out to the water, alarm bells ringing in his head because he didn't know if Vincent could even _swim_ , or if he'd take to playing like that. Just because they were having a nice day didn't mean it couldn't go to shit real quick.

Yuffie came up first, gasping and laughing. Vincent rose from the depths with his bangs plastered to his face. His lack of expression made Yuffie laugh harder. The noise cut off with a yelp and another splash when Vincent pushed her back under.

What followed was not so much the ordinary splashing and playing of other people, but a complicated play fight comprised of dodging and weaving around each other with the goal of dunking.

Cid let out a relieved breath and dropped to sit in the shallows. He frequently forgot Vincent was skilled in hand to hand combat, but now, watching him fend off the princess of Wutai, it was hard to say who would win the impromptu sparring match.

And it did become a proper spar, as the two left deeper waters and lost interest in dunking in favor of trading blows. Yuffie’s grin became sharp, her delight not diminishing a bit. She was one of the only ones of their old gang who could keep up with Vincent’s speed, and she did it without mako or Jenova.

Vincent flipped up into the air, avoiding a drop kick. The minute he landed, he kicked off again to avoid a punch, sending a spray of wet sand that hit Yuffie’s knees. She whooped and chased after him.

Shaking his head and grinning, Cid admired her spunk. He recalled that she was one of the first to decide to not just work with Vincent, but befriend him, all those years ago. The rest of the team had regarded them with wary suspicion--Yuffie because of her kleptomania and Vincent because of his everything. Even Cid had failed to be as kind as he should have been to Yuffie back then. She’d only been sixteen, daring to take on the world and put up with a bunch of asshole adults. No wonder, then, that she and Vincent were such good friends.

Vincent swept her legs out from under her, then stood over her with the metal fist against his hip, his shadow shielding her from the sun. After she caught her breath, he offered his hand to pull her up. Cid swallowed down a lump of fondness, looking away. At least none of them had to act any different for their roles.

“Hey, Mitchell!” Yuffie hollered, a minute later, waving with her hand high in the air. “Let’s go for a walk!!” She pointed further down the beach, towards the rocky outcropping at the base of the cliff, well within the shadow of the lighthouse.

“Yeah, alright.” Cid got to his feet and waded out of the water. Noticing Vincent’s retreat towards the parasol, he tilted his head. “Kazuo not comin’?”

“He’s getting our stuff.”

Sure enough, Vincent gathered everything, packing it into Yuffie’s bag. He even shook the towels out and rolled them up to pile on top of everything else. The only thing he left was the rented parasol. When he came back, he handed Cid’s shirt over, the pocket empty.

“Shit, where’s--”

“In the bag,” Vincent said.

Cid let out a breath, shoulders slumping. “Thanks.”

After he pulled the shirt on, Yuffie pulled them along by the wrists a few steps, as if to physically get them moving. She let go, but stayed between the two men as they made their way down the beach.

Sand gave away to tide pools up near the base of the cliff. Yuffie crowed with excitement as she clambered over the rocks and hunkered down to admire the colorful creatures living just below the surface.

“Come see, this is totally cool!!” She flapped her hand behind her without taking her eyes off whatever she’s found.

Exchanging a glance with Vincent, Cid shrugged, smiling, and picked his way carefully over to join Yuffie. Vincent followed right behind, leaning against Cid’s side to get a good look. Yuffie pointed out brightly colored sea anemones, an urchin, and several starfish.

It was Vincent that discovered the octopus, cleverly camouflaged to look like rocks, wedged between a cluster of mussels. Its strange pupils gave it away, and when Yuffie managed to spot it, she tried to scoot closer for a better look, but it startled and scrambled away, tentacles kicking up debris.

“Awww!!”

“There’s always other fish in the sea,” Cid joked, and got water splashed at him in retaliation.

They ventured on, exploring the tide pools as they curved around the base of the cliff and gave way to a rocky outcropping. Stronger waves smashed against the rocks, spraying water everywhere.

Yuffie studied the barrier of rocks, then looked back at them. “Do you think there’s anything good past this?”

“Doubtful.” Vincent shrugged.

“I ain't climbin’ no slick ass rocks in a speedo. Knowin’ my luck, I'll fall ‘n bust my skull open, and it'll be in all the papers I was bein’ a dumbass in my skivvies.”

“Couldn't you just jump it?” Yuffie wondered.

“And land on who the fuck knows what on the other side? No fuckin’ thanks.”

Vincent eyed Cid’s speedo, then the rocks, and finally Yuffie. “We should go back.”

Disappointed, but not willing to press on alone, Yuffie nodded. They returned to the beach and their rented parasol, where they spread their things out and enjoyed their snacks.

After waiting long enough, Cid went out into the water to swim. He couldn't remember the last time he swam, and it took him a few practice laps in the shallows to get the hang of it again. Yuffie splashed out to join him, and before he knew it, he was racing her to a buoy and back, as if he’d never left the water behind at all. He beat her, but only barely.

Vincent waited in the shallows, arms folded and head tilted. “You make it look easy, Chief.”

Cid snorted, too breathless to answer, and flopped on the wet sand to wait out his thundering heart. Yuffie groaned dramatically as she sprawled beside him.

They lolled around the beach and the shallows for another hour or so before going back to the hotel. Vincent never swam, never went out further than his waist. By the time Cid thought to ask about it, the lights were out in their room and he was half asleep, so he let it go.


	31. searching for courage

Neither Yuffie nor Vincent wanted to get up and moving the next morning, so it fell to Cid to herd them along. While Yuffie was noisy in her protests, reluctantly dragging her feet through packing up, Vincent just had that far away, glassy look that said he'd overdone it and needed time to recharge. Cid felt for them both, really, and kept his swearing to a minimum as he checked through their rooms to make sure they didn't forget anything. He had to rescue a gun and Cait Sith before they checked out.

"Can't fuckin' believe ya'd forget him," Cid grumbled, stuffing the heavy mechanical cat into a bag.

Yuffie yawned widely, shrugging and rubbing at her watery eyes. "Soooorry. Someone would've found him for us later..."

"Not the damn point."

From there, Cid hustled them through catching a shuttle to the airport and loading everything onto the plane. He felt like some kind of mother, with overgrown children that didn’t want to be there. It was ridiculous.

Once the airport staff left, he paused, head tilted, and listened closely to a high pitched whine coming from behind one of the lights. Vincent must have heard it too, since he squinted in that direction. Cid stood on his tippy-toes, yanking the light cover off to reveal a microphone taped below the light bulb. After pulling it down, he restored the light cover and tossed the microphone to Vincent, who crushed it in his claws.

Then Cid began to check over the plane carefully for tampering.

"Woah, what’s up?" Yuffie wondered, watching him run his hands along the walls, ceiling, and floor in the cargo hold. She apparently hadn’t been paying attention, or hadn’t understood.

Nothing felt loose, and there were no new dings on the screws to suggest anyone might have recently messed with the metal siding. Frowning, Cid stood with his hips on his hands. He cast one last look over the cargo hold, shrugging a shoulder at Yuffie. If they _were_ under surveillance, he didn't want to announce that he suspected anything.

“What’s that fuckin’ code word for the cat?”

Vincent said, "Gold Saucer."

Cait Sith perked up, flailed a little on finding itself zipped up in a bag, and came spilling out with a yowl. The mechanical cat smacked face first into the floor, ears making a comical whap-whap sound on impact. It sprang up, fists waving.

"What's the big idea?!"

"Hush up and check yer hidin' spots."

Blinking, Cait Sith did as it was told, climbing in and out of the bomb bays. It came out of the second one with a small lump of wires and tape, shaking its head.

"Yeah, s'what I thought," Cid muttered.

Vincent, leaning on the wall near the ladder to the cockpit, pointed towards the hatch to the gunner's nest. He tapped the side of his nose. "The scent of visitors is strongest in there."

"Hell. I'm gonna have to start up. Everyone, get strapped in. Cait, ya have a look 'round."

While Cid and Vincent climbed into the cockpit, Cait Sith ambled into the gunner's nest to search. The idea of flying a plane that'd been tampered with made Cid's skin crawl, but he couldn't see any way to finish checking everything without raising suspicion. He'd need to fly them somewhere safely away from Gongaga before he could give the engines a look over. Silently, he prayed that their potential enemies didn't think them a threat yet and the worst of it was tracking and surveillance.

He went through the motions of starting the engines, hailed air control for permission to take off, and then announced over the speakers, "Y'all better strap in, we're takin' off in two."

Take off went without a hitch. Nothing exploded, no turbulence, and nothing out of order. Cid let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as they left Gongaga behind, heading east even though their destination was north.

He was glad of that decision a couple minutes out, when Vincent leaned forward, glaring at the co-pilot's console as if it personally offended him. With the roar of the engines, Cid couldn't hear anything, and he couldn't see what Vincent saw from his angle. Gold claws felt around at the back of the inactive co-pilot's yoke, caught on something, and tore it loose. A blinking green device that went out in sparks as Vincent crushed it. He looked around for somewhere to stow the remains and settled on the pouch for maps against the wall by his seat.

"Thanks, starshine," Cid called out, abstaining from using the radio lest someone be listening in.

He flew them about twenty miles away from Gongaga before landing in an open field. The minute they came to a stop, Cid powered the engines down.

He threw off his seat belts, growling lowly under his breath, and made a thorough check of everywhere he could think of in the cockpit to hide something. Meanwhile, Vincent slid from his seat and disappeared down the ladder. Rattling and clanking from below suggested the others were searching, too.

Cid climbed down and let himself out of the plane, snagging a toolbox on the way out. He went straight for the undercarriage to check the landing gear and wheel wells. He found another flickering green panel wedged into the rightmost well, something that could have very easily impacted the plane’s ability to retract its wheels.

“Stupid fuckin’ bastards, I find out who the fuck’s responsible for messin’ with my goddamn fuckin’ plane, I am gonna shove my boot so far up their goddamn ass they taste leather and the shit I had to fuckin kick through,” he muttered under his breath, moving on through a full systems check up.

Behind him, the others flung heaps of wires and metal out of the plane. In a particularly vindictive display, Yuffie flattened the pile of ruined surveillance equipment with a dark orb of Gravity.

“Nobody spies on the great ninja Yuffie Kisaragi!!” she yelled, raising her shuriken to the sky.

Vincent drifted over and stood a respectful distance away to watch Cid fret over the left engine. He’d dug his cloak and Cerberus out, donning them over the fancy dress clothes “Kazuo” favored. It was an odd contrast.

“Seems the Crescent family raised some suspicion, flying in on a military plane, Chief.”

“Fuckin’ wouldn’a if goddamn Reeve--” Cid shot a glare over at the little black and white cat bouncing around near the thoroughly demolished pile of scrap. “--ever fuckin’ told us the shit we needed to know.”

“He likely forgot.” Vincent’s tone of voice did not suggest he was making excuses. In fact, it was as cold as the wintry plains surrounding the northern crater.

Cid shot him a grimacing grin. “I’ll get our asses back in the air here in a few, lemme finish checkin’ the engines. Shiiit.” Groaning and muttering curses under his breath, he resecured the left engine’s chassis. “Find out if we’re gonna go in guns blastin’ or not.”

With a nod, Vincent swept away to interrogate their employer’s chosen avatar. Cid focused on getting the job done.

If their enemies had enough money to plant that many tracking devices on one plane, they probably already knew those devices were found and destroyed. Which meant that they had the resources to send someone out to investigate, if they thought it worth their while. Cid didn't intend to wait around to see what kind of welcome wagon would roll out from anyone that the WRO couldn't get a bead on.

Even if he _did_ want to give them a piece of his boot.

The only thing he found anywhere on the engines was a smear of chalk on the inside of the right engine's chassis. That gave him pause. He ran his finger through it, smudging it further, but couldn't think of a single damn reason for it to be there. Grumbling, he rubbed the rest of it off, then dusted his hands and put everything back to rights.

"Think that's it," Cid said, ambling over to join the others at the entrance hatch. "So what's the plan?"

"Weeeell." Cait Sith rubbed at an ear. "Think I agree with Vincent's assessment, we just made someone nervous..."

"Bad guys _should_ be nervous," Yuffie put in, pumping her fist in the air. "I'm coming to kick their butts with my trio of sidekicks!"

Cid scoffed and Vincent turned away, shaking his head. Cait Sith patted vaguely at her ankle. She blew a raspberry at them all, folding her arms, and did not seem the least bit deterred by their lack of enthusiasm.

"Anyway," Cait Sith said, "They probably don’t know who you are, or that you’re a real threat. It'd be best if you didn't land directly in Costa del Sol. Maybe you should take your family to Gold Saucer!"

A resounding, "No," from Vincent _and_ Cid made it clear neither man had any interest in that particularly noisy resort town. Yuffie made a soft, “aww” noise.

"Alright, alright, umm... You could go to Junon and catch the ferry?"

Cid shook his head. "That’d take too fuckin’ long, with the ferry and shit. Yuffie’ll sick up both ways and bitch the whole time.”

“Hey,” Yuffie protested, weakly, and then muttered, “True, but _rude_.”

“Plus, I don't like the idea of makin’ the jump over that much water without a stop beforehand. It’s been a long fuckin’ month, might doze off and before yanno it, we're in the goddamn drink ‘cuz I ain't got a qualified co-pilot on board.”

"Surely Vincent could--"

"I abstain from this responsibility," Vincent cut in. "Technology and I are not fast friends."

"Running out of options, guys..." The little mechanical cat paced back and forth, tail twitching. "We don't know how far out from Costa del Sol people might be watching. The WRO _could_ guard the plane, but it may attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Dammit," Cid muttered, dragging his hand through his hair. "Why's everything gotta be so damn complicated these days?"

"Like chasing Sephiroth and fighting ShinRa was simple?" Yuffie huffed. "I _still_ don't really get half of what went down!!"

"Oh!" Cait Sith jumped up into the air, beaming. "What about going to North Corel?"

"We're not fuckin' goin' to Gold Saucer, cat," Cid growled.

"No, no." The mechanical cat waved its gloved paws dismissively in front of itself, head shaking hard enough to flap its ears. "There's more to the town than the lift now!"

"Like what?" Yuffie tilted her head, hands on her hips. "'Cuz that place was a dump..."

"Well, if you ever took any missions that didn't give you opportunities to steal materia," Cait Sith grumbled, one eye closed and the other squinting sidelong at the girl. "You'd know the WRO has been hard at work helping the town get on its feet."

"Listen, I only take the _fun_ jobs!!"

"Hey!" Cid barked. "Get the fuck on with it."

Cait Sith snapped to attention, saluting jauntily. "Well, there's an advertisement for tours through Mt. Corel! They go all the way to Costa del Sol."

"Ain't that fuckin' convenient..."

"So, so, so?" The mechanical cat bounced on its tippy toes. "What'll it be, captain?"

Cid looked towards Vincent, who gazed placidly back. A glance at the other two confirmed they were waiting on his decision, too.

"Fuck, alright, let's do the damn mountain tour. They better fuckin' have complimentary softs."

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Cait Sith chirped.

“Just sayin’ shit like that invites it to not be fine, yanno that right?”

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Ya fuckin'--"

Cid chased the damn mechanical cat onto the plane, and narrowly missed booting it because it ducked into one of the bomb bays. Over the clang of the hatch, he let out a stream of filthy curses. Reeve was just being irritating as usual, and he knew that, logically, but he felt antsy and aggravated, as he always did when dealing with danger that was out of his control.

"I don't think that's physically possible, captain," Yuffie said, as she squeezed past him to take her seat.

Vincent said nothing at all as he walked by, but ran a finger along the line of Cid's shoulders, effectively derailing his thoughts.

"Shit," Cid muttered, thumbing at his nose, and followed the flap of cape up into the cockpit.

He got them up into the air and on the way to North Corel without any further incident. Even knowing they’d checked the plane as thoroughly as they could, he still felt like his skin might crawl right off from the paranoia that they’d missed something.

Vincent watched him, but remained distant. No offerings of hard candy to soothe frayed nerves, no scintillating conversation half heard over the engines. A companionable silence settled in the cockpit, broken up only by Cid muttering instructions to himself under his breath to keep focused during the relatively short flight north.

Though he'd flown the _Shera_ all over the damn world, Cid had never really paid much attention to the area surrounding Mt. Corel. Deliveries to resort towns were not high on his priority list, after all.

But it seemed Cait Sith told the truth--North Corel was doing quite well. It warmed Cid’s heart to see it thriving, knowing all too well how close the little town came to disaster.

With mako no longer a viable source of energy, the town got back into the business of coal. The old, rusty tracks were gone, repaired and replaced as needed. As they flew overhead, Cid saw streaming smoke trailing behind a train pulling in. Just the sight of it made him blanch.

Instead of dry, loose dust and nothing else, the townspeople tilled the soil and planted. The artful arrangement of farms, gardens, and landscaping looked radically different than what they saw in Gongaga, even thousands of feet up in the air. Cid didn't have the head for farming, but he remembered how barren the area used to be. Getting anything to grow out there was a miracle.

Despite prospering, the town remained small enough that Cid half expected to have to land in someone's field. He set his radio to broadcast on all frequencies and hailed, just to see if anyone would answer.

Shockingly, someone did, sounding a little breathless. "Uh-- uh-- hello, _Last_ , this is the Corel airstrip! We're at uh, the southeast part of town, just uh-- give us a minute? To move our planes?? Over and out?"

Cid snorted, amused, but turned the plane that way. Sure enough, a dinky little one-strip airport sat at the very edge of town. He circled lazily, watching as a couple people scrambled to get their little birds out of the way.

"C'mon in, _Last_ ," the voice on the radio said, when the way was clear.

Flying out far enough, Cid turned back and dipped down, landing the _Last_ neatly. His plane was almost too big for the narrow airstrip. As they rolled to a stop, they passed the town's smaller planes, which were both single passenger, fixed wing aircraft, the sort that had been converted to spray fields.

No wonder then, that when the _Last_ came to a stop and they all piled out the back, the locals looked agog at having a military plane in their midst.

Cid waved. "Yo."

At least he didn't _look_ like a military man, in "Mitchell"'s sneakers and tacky shirts. His dog tags were hidden. Yuffie didn't look threatening, either, holding a stuffed cat in her arms. Vincent, visibly armed and in his spooky cloak, probably gave off the most threatening aura.

"Uh, uh, hello, welcome... I think?"

The owner of the voice on the radio turned out to be a young woman in dirty overalls. She had dark hair so curly and thick that it stood on its own. And she looked nervously between the three, gaze lingering on Vincent's gun in particular.

Her partner was an old man, hunched and white haired with oil under his fingernails. He smiled vaguely, head bobbing. "Howdy!"

Cid glanced to Vincent and Yuffie, unsure how to proceed. As usual, Reeve hadn't given them a full plan to work from. Maybe the commissioner of the WRO avoided concrete plans because they'd never worked out during the crisis. Either way, it left Cid high and dry because stealth missions weren't his forte.

Blessedly, Yuffie decided to take charge. She strode forward, sticking her hand out. "Hi! I'm Inoe Crescent."

The young woman took it, shaking vigorously. "Andy. Nice to meetcha."

Yuffie nodded towards Vincent. "That's my dad, Kazuo." With a bright, mischievous smile, she indicated Cid. "And his husband, Mitchell."

"A pleasure," Vincent murmured. Cid just nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Andy let out a breath, as though relieved that the new arrivals weren't secretly international spies come to do harm to her small town. "Well, what can we do ya for?"

"We came to take the tour through Mt. Corel! Aaand... I think we need our plane looked after...?" Yuffie twisted around to look at Cid, head comically tilted.

"Yep." Cid shrugged, as though indifferent. It took a fair bit of willpower to not go right out of his gourd from how nervous the idea of leaving his plane behind in the hands of two unknowns in the middle of nowhere made him. "Don't want it out in the weather or nothin', gonna need it in one piece to get home. Can pay ya."

"Oh, sure, sure, that won't be a problem. Reckon we got space in the hangar, right, Jamie?"

"H'yeap," the old man answered.

"Right! So, dads, let's get our stuff!"

Yuffie bounced right back onto the plane, humming cheerfully. Vincent cast one last look over the group, gaze lingering on Cid, then swept into the plane after her.

The two locals peered at Cid, expectant.

"Uh, yeah, lemme get my wallet," Cid mumbled, and beat a hasty retreat.

Because no one wanted to be watched while they unpacked and repacked, hiding materia and incriminating evidence at the bottom of ordinary luggage, Cid shut the entrance hatch behind him. Cait Sith came to life the minute the hatch clanged.

"They look like a good bunch, but just to be safe, I'll stay and have agents check the area periodically. It's not too unusual for folks to pass through on the way to Gold Saucer, after all!!"

Cid nodded, not looking up through rummaging through his things to try and decide what to bring. "Thanks, cat."

The clothes purchased for their stay in Gongaga seemed largely impractical for a trip through the mountains, but their destination was Costa del Sol. Resigning himself to extra weight, Cid packed shorts, sneakers, and swimwear into his bag, as well as his preferred jacket, t-shirts, and jeans. His spear would never fit into any bag, so the locals were just going to have to accept it on the grounds of self-defense.

While he was at it, he grabbed a change of clothes and retreated to the far side of the cargo hold to change. Yuffie turned her back to him, huffing and covering her eyes in an exaggerated display. Vincent came over as Cid yanked the t-shirt down over his head.

"What's up, starshine?"

Silently, Vincent plucked at the fancy dress pants, casting a sidelong look at Yuffie.

"Ah, yeah, not 'zactly hikin' gear is it. Lemme get her outta yer hair."

Cid tossed his dirties into the luggage he'd be leaving behind, then grabbed his spear and bag and Yuffie's elbow, marching off the plane. She protested weakly, but as far as Cid could tell, it was for show because she already had everything she needed ready to go. Vincent shut the door behind them.

After several minutes of small talk and paying to have the plane held, Vincent came out, dressed in black, with his usual boots. His cloak and gun were gone though, probably packed up in the duffel bag. He wore two smaller handguns in shoulder holsters.

“Alright, looks like we’re ready to go,” Cid announced. “Take good care of her.”

“Sure, sure, ya can count on us!” Andy thumped her fist against her chest, smiling because she’d probably made more money in the last ten minutes than she normally did in a year.

With Andy and Jamie waving to see them off, the trio set off towards the town proper.


	32. face my enemies

Predictably, the small office for the Queen Bee Touring Company was right between the train station and the lift up to Gold Saucer. The carved wooden sign above the door swung in the breeze, the gold enamel on the cartoon bee's stripes and crown gleaming. Someone, maybe a little too eager for the holiday season to begin, had strung flickering, colorful lights in the window, illuminating a snowy miniature of North Corel complete with a toy train circling it.

Cid stared at all of that, hands on his hips, and wished that Cait Sith hadn't stayed behind just so he could glare at the cat. The gaudy decor didn't bother him as much as the concern for Vincent did. The dark haired man tucked his chin and flatly refused to acknowledge any part of the decorations.

Yuffie, of course, pranced right in, jangling the gold bell above the door. She looked around the empty waiting room, a hand on her hip, and then strode up to the counter, where a man snoozed with his feet propped up. The bell hadn't been enough to wake him, but Yuffie's loud, "Hi!" startled him badly enough that he woke flailing and fell backwards.

She stood on her tippy toes, hands braced on the countertop, and peered down at him. Behind her, Cid and Vincent reluctantly entered and approached.

The man sprang to his feet. He adjusted his hat and his glasses. "Holy sh-- Uh. I mean. W-welcome to the Queen Bee Touring Co.! How can I... help...?" He looked over his potential customers, smile drooping with open curiosity, and then seemed to catch himself, brightening up.

"We wanna take the tour!" Yuffie smiled her brightest, which seemed to totally dazzle the man so much that he became stunned. "Towards Costa del Sol. Through the mountains. ...Are you okay, mister?"

"Uhhh. I'm fine! Let me just..." He pawed through various pamphlets in plastic containers on the counter, and slapped them down before Yuffie. "So these are our packages, uhh, you can take the train part way and then it's a cheery hike the rest of the way. Or you can hike the whole way. Either way, you can purchase different luxuries and amenities. And, of course, every trip comes with complimentary meals and softs!"

While Yuffie and the man chatted their way through the options, Cid leaned towards Vincent. "This guy's got no idea what he's dealin' with," he whispered, and received a soft huff and squinty eyes.

Sure enough, whatever high prices and luxury packages the man was supposed to sell, Yuffie half-flirted and half-threatened him down to the ground. She smiled winningly as she spun on her "dads" with a trio of tickets in her hands. The man looked a bit run over and panicked.

"Ta-da!!" Delicately, she placed a ticket into Cid's hand, and another into Vincent's, not being the least bit shy about manhandling them into accepting. "Our train leaves in a half hour, and the tour guides will be on board to show us the way, so we should go wait!"

"Ugh, fuck, trains," Cid groaned.

"Don't worry, dad, it won't be as bad as last time!"

"Why ya gotta go and _say_ it."

As they exited the shop, Vincent bumped his shoulder against Cid's. Yuffie sing-songed ahead of them, chattering about all the fun things that could happen, not really paying attention to either man.

"If it helps, Chief, you can hold onto me."

"Thanks, starshine." Cid smiled, deeply touched, and jostled against Vincent's side. "I'll try to wait'll nobody's lookin'. My pride might not hold up if'n everybody knows 'bout my phobia."

"Of course. We must protect _your_ pride, after all..."

The train station, like the rest of the town, was small. The tiny ticket booth possessed only enough room for two benches in front of the counter. The rest of the station focused on utility--across the tracks, there was a large warehouse, water tank, and grain silo.

A sleepy-eyed old woman watched them from the counter as they filed in and took seats on the hard benches. Yuffie flapped her ticket in the air, and the old woman lost interest.

For the next half hour, Cid bounced his leg and smoked two cigarettes. Vincent sat still and stiff as stone next to him, making no complaint about the fidgeting. Yuffie ignored it in favor of reading some girly comic book that seemed to involve a lot of unshed tears and flower petal backgrounds.

The train's whistle as it blew into town made Cid drop his third cigarette just as he was lighting it. Swearing, he ducked down to grab it, and pointedly did not acknowledge the curious staring from the old woman at the counter.

As if nothing were out of the ordinary, Vincent reached to take the cigarette and lighter from Cid's shaking fingers. He put the cigarette between his own lips and bent to light the tip. After a lazy drag, the smoke exhaled in Cid's direction, Vincent offered it and the lighter back.

"Thanks, Kaz," Cid muttered.

The train took another twenty minutes or so to unload, but accepted passengers within ten. Their guides turned out to be a smiling pair of women with Queen Bee t-shirts and gold rings on their fingers. The casual way they leaned together while greeting their newest customers suggested that there were no husbands waiting "back home".

"How ya doin'!" the redhead said, grinning, as she took their tickets. "My name's Kiran!"

"And I'm Vivian," the blond added. "We'll be your guides today."

Kiran sized them up, hands behind her back. "So, what're your names?"

Yuffie, ever the chipper one, stuck her hand out to shake each woman's hand. "I'm Inoe Crescent, and those are my dads!"

"Kazuo," Vincent said, with a nod.

In the stuttered pause that followed, in which Cid's brain ground to a halt, too overwrought with the fact that he would shortly be getting on a _train_ , everyone turned to look at him. His anxiety grew. He took a long, deep drag of his cigarette.

Yuffie opened her mouth to take pity on him, but Vincent beat her to it. "And my husband, Mitchell."

"Think dad's feeling a little tired," Yuffie added, smiling apologetically. "We had a long flight already."

"Oh, that's no problem, he can rest up on the train!" Vivian made a broad flourish towards the steaming engine behind her. "There's two passenger cars, and I do believe you've paid for first class?"

Kiran held up the ticket stubs. "Yep. They've got the works."

"Niiiice," Vivian hummed. "Well, c'mon in, let's get settled and Kiran and I can give you the pitch once the train starts moving."

They climbed onto the train and found that first class wasn't all that much different than economy. The difference seemed to be one less seat per row, a little more padding in the seats, and complimentary throw blankets. Kiran and Vivian made sure to talk the whole thing up, helping the trio put their bags away and get settled.

Cid paid little attention, taking a seat as far in the back as possible, up against the window with the blinds pulled down so he didn't have to watch the steam billowing by. He put his unfinished cigarette out against the bottom of his boot, then shoved the butt into his pocket to be dealt with later.

Vincent sat next to him, pointedly laying his arm on the armrest between them in such a way that it pressed against Cid's side. He appreciated it, even if it ran the risk of getting elbowed.

Yuffie dropped into the seats in front of them, and their tour guides took the seats ahead of her, putting ample enough distance between them and their chances of seeing Cid quietly freak out.

The howl of the train whistle rattled Cid's teeth some time later. He hunkered down, eyes closed, and did a pretty good impression of having fallen asleep, if not for the fact that he was like a tightly wound spring, ready to jump out of his seat at the first hint that anything was wrong with the train. Feeling the lurch of it speeding up made him dig his fingers into his knees.

Vincent's breath puffed warmly against his ear. "You should open the blinds."

"Hell no."

With a sigh, Vincent leaned away, as if to give up. Cid cracked an eye open, just in time for the other man to crowd into his space, reaching for the blinds. When it snapped upwards, letting sunlight in, Cid gaped, a fish out of water.

"Hmm. I suppose it's a nice view, if you care about such things." Vincent sat back, indifferent.

Cid stared. Even if he didn't look out their window, he could see the landscape rolling by through the other windows in the background. Keeping his gaze on Vincent helped, especially when those red eyes met his steadily, as cool as a winter's day. He could feel his nerves ebbing as the train left North Corel behind, going at a regular pace that didn't risk flying off the rails.

"You're not very good at this comfort thing, starshine," Cid muttered, just to be petulant, and nudged his arm against Vincent's.

"That's just how I am, sorry."

It didn't get any easier to look out the windows, so after a while, Cid pulled the blinds back down. Like North Corel, the mountains had undergone extensive recovery and landscaping to undo the damage done by mankind's ruthless quest for progress, but Cid didn't feel like he was missing much. One tree was much the same as the next.

Kiran stood from her seat, a megaphone in hand. She didn't use it, probably because she only had three customers, all in one spot. "So we're coming up on the mines on the left..."

Cid put his head in his hand, closed his eyes, and tuned the tour chatter out. Before he knew it, he dozed off.

He woke to the seesawing feeling of the train coming to a stop. Afternoon sun gave away to the cooler, dimmer light of dusk creeping in. Blinking groggily, Cid sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

"Where are we?"

"End of the line, Chief."

Yuffie twisted around in her seat, bracing her arm along the back of it. "Aww, you slept like a baby!"

"Shuddap." Cid yawned, stretching with one arm all the way up and the other bent over his head. His spine crackled, relieving some of the knotted pressure. "What's next?"

As the train came to a full stop, the tour guides got out of their seats. Kiran helped Yuffie get her bag off of the storage rack. Vivian approached the two men.

"We'll be staying overnight at this outpost, and then we'll make the hike down the mountain to Costa del Sol in the morning." She pointed up at the storage rack. "Do you need help?"

"No thanks, darlin'."

Nodding, she got out of their way. Vincent slid from his seat, grabbing his own bag from the rack before stepping aside. Cid followed suit, hefting his bag over his shoulder.

It was a blessed relief to finally step off the train.

The outpost consisted of a train station even smaller than North Corel's, another warehouse, a parking garage with fuel pumps, and a large log cabin style inn. One of the front windows of the inn had a Queen Bee sticker on it.

Beyond that, a huge paved road went down the mountain, likely to allow trucks to ferry goods off.

Kiran pointed towards the treeline behind the road. "Our trail starts behind the inn and will take us down the scenic way, but if anything happens, we can get down to the main road to hail a truck."

"Much safer than it used to be!" Vivian added, beaming. "C'mon, let's get some rooms and grub!"

The inn wasn't much to write home about, but it was clean and homey. An older, plump woman stopped wiping down tables, smiling, on seeing Kiran and Vivian. "Hey, girls!"

"Hiya, Mama," Kiran said, going right up to the woman to hug her. "Your day go okay while we were out?"

"Yep, no problems here." Separating from Kiran, the old woman put her hands on her hips and surveyed the new guests. "Dinner'll be ready soon. What kinda rooms'll y'want?"

"They're married, Mama..."

"Married ain't always mean sharin' a bed, dearheart."

Cid coughed into his fist, casting an amused look towards Vincent, who heaved the kind of sigh that raised his shoulders and then dropped them, shaking his head. Yuffie tittered at them.

"Well, 'less Kaz decides I've overstayed my welcome, one room for us and one for Inoe'll do it."

"Not a problem." The old woman walked behind the counter, grabbing two keys from the rack on the wall. "How d'ya know these men, Inoe?"

"Uh, they're my _dads_." The _duh_ was heavily implied in Yuffie's tone of voice, perfectly matching up with the way she cocked her hip, one fist against it, her eyes rolling skyward. "Please don't put me in a room right next to them. I'll never get any sleep."

Laughing, the old woman swapped one of the keys. "Fair enough, fair enough." She slid them across the counter. "Rooms 3 and 4, right 'cross from one another, if it pleases her majesty."

"Thank you, ma'am," Yuffie answered, grabbing her key. She waved over her shoulder at Vincent and Cid, already heading upstairs. "Gonna go freshen up."

"Hmm." Vincent picked up the key and swept off without further ado.

"We'll come get you when it's time for dinner," Vivian said, from where she'd sprawled out on a couch, feet kicked up onto the arm.

Kiran went over and pushed those feet off the couch, tsking. "Go ahead and take a load off!"

Cid nodded. "Thanks." Then he jogged to catch up with Vincent, who didn't slow down at all on hearing him coming.

Yuffie got room 3; she'd already gone in, shutting the door behind her by the time the two men reached room 4's door. Vincent unlocked it, then passed the key to Cid, as if the mere possibility of being responsible for anything was too much to be borne for a minute longer. He walked into the room to set his bag on the end of the bed.

Cid stuffed the key in his pocket and followed, shutting the door behind him. The room was small, taken up almost entirely by the bed. No less than six pillows and three patchwork quilts covered it. Vincent pushed his hand down on it, testing its softness, and found that it was basically a giant overstuffed pillow, the kind that rises back up real slow.

"Sleeping on the floor might be preferable, if there were any room." Vincent murmured.

With a snort, Cid shook his head. "Can't say they didn't _try_ for comfort."

The room had a small closet with a chest of drawers inside, but no bathroom. Cid tossed his bag on top of the dresser, then held his hand out for Vincent's. It weighed a ton, making him grunt and strain to lift it.

"Fuck, what the hell ya packin', yer entire armory?"

"Hardly."

Vincent wandered over to the window, twitching the heavy curtains aside. The view wasn't bad, overlooking the descent down the mountainside. Street lights lining the road twinkled orange in the distance.

"How ya doin', starshine?"

"Shouldn't I be asking that of you?" Vincent didn't look away from the window. He folded his arms, the line of his shoulders tensing.

"Ehh... Guess it wasn't too bad." Cid scratched the back of his head, gaze wandering to the bland painting of a flower field above the bed. "Seein' North Corel doin' okay was pretty nice, I guess."

"Hmm."

"We been doin' a lotta social shit lately, yanno. Ya want me to shut up?"

"You are the only one I don't want quiet from." Vincent finally turned away from the window. "But if you would not mind, I think... I need to rest before dinner."

"Nah, c'mon, let's take it easy."

While Vincent shed his shoes and sundry, Cid got up to turn the light off. Then they gingerly climbed into the bed, rearranging things and flinging unneeded quilts and pillows onto the floor. Vincent ended up sprawled out around Cid, one leg over his and arm around his waist. The stillness that followed meant that even if Vincent weren't properly asleep, he'd gone far away mentally and wasn't likely to enjoy being disturbed. Cid closed his eyes and thought of nothing much.

Knocking an hour later disturbed the quiet. Cid opened one eye, feeling Vincent tense and reluctantly withdraw.

"We'll be out in a sec," Cid called. He didn't quite catch the muffled reply, but whichever woman was knocking moved on down the hall. He turned his attention to Vincent. "Ya hungry?"

"Not really."

"Could say ya ain't feelin' well."

"Hmm. That old woman seemed suspicious of us. I should make an appearance."

"Ehh, fuck her."

"Rather not."

"...Eugh. Nasty. What the hell, man."

Vincent rolled out of bed, stiffly going through the motions of getting ready. It didn't seem like his rest had done much more than make him sleepier. Cid yanked his boots on and resisted the urge to push Vincent back into the bed, to insist that he stay behind.

They went downstairs to find a small gathering of rough-looking folks taking up half the dining tables. Their chatter filled the room. Yuffie waved from a table shared with Vivian and Kiran.

"What's all the hubbub about?" Cid wondered, plopping down onto the bench with space between himself and Yuffie for Vincent.

"Those are truckers," Kiran explained. "Most of them will head out after dinner."

Smirking, Vivian added, "If they get too noisy, we can have Mama yell at 'em."

As Vincent took the offered space between them, Cid grinned. "Love to see that."

"Okay. Let's wait'll she's done dishing out drinks." Vivian's smirk became positively evil, and she only laughed when Kiran jostled her in protest.

Dinner was a thick brown curry loaded with meat, potatoes, and vegetables, served over rice. It had just enough spice to warm the cheeks. "Mama" and an old man brought out pitchers of ice water, milk, tea, and beer, pouring them out deftly. Cid helped himself to water and the beer, which turned out to be the kind of low alcohol swill that only a working person about to operate heavy machinery could favor. It made him grin, remembering a few late nights of sharing the same with crew mates.

“Not a bad lil place, huh, Kaz?”

“Hmm.” Vincent leaned into Cid, depositing a spoonful of unwanted peas. “We’ve stayed at worse places.”

“Hey, now, Mama’s is a nice establishment!” Kiran protested. “I dunno what kinda fancy stuff you’re used too--”

“Apologies.”

Cid hid a smile behind his tankard of beer, knowing Vincent didn’t mean that apology one bit. He probably just wanted to put a stop to the rant before it got carried away. Regardless, Kiran seemed mollified, blowing out a breath and then going back to eating and chatting with Yuffie and Vivian.

As his plate gained more peas, Cid retaliated by giving Vincent some carrots back. “Ya gotta eat yer veg, starshine.”

Staring him right in the eye, Vincent put a slice of carrot into his mouth and bit down. He chewed slowly while Cid laughed, not sure whether to be intimidated or not. Mostly, he felt relaxed and happy, warm from more than the curry and beer.


	33. turn down the lights

Kiran and Vivian hustled them out the door at the crack of dawn after a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Cid and Vincent both downed an excess of coffee to cope with the three chipper morning birds chatting away about the day's plans. The sun just barely started to rise, so the air was cold and misty fog coiled around their feet as they started down the trail. There weren't many landmarks to point out, so their guides remained quiet for the first leg of the journey.

By the time the sun got all the way up in the sky, the trail veered up above the road and into the trees. It was cool and dark, and the going was slow because of the amount of rocky terrain they needed to either cross or go around.

And the further out they went, the more the guides seemed to have a story to tell about each landmark. A rock shaped like a dog, a huge gnarled tree where someone famous had died among the roots, on and on the chatter went. Vivian and Kiran were good storytellers, but every stop meant the hike took longer than it needed. Cid itched to just _go_ , but he kept a fixed smile in place and pretended to listen. Yuffie did better, asking questions and getting caught up in the pretense of bright eyed city girl with no experience. Vincent didn't even try, standing aloofly off to the side.

Around noon, they stopped at a small stream for lunch. Vivian unpacked her satchel, laying out a spread of lunch boxes containing rice, cold cuts, vegetables, fruit, and other delectables like boiled eggs. Cid snorted in amusement over hot dogs cut into octopus shapes. He wiggled one at Vincent, who gave him the most unimpressed stare in return. Yuffie stole it, grinning, and flung a grape at Cid's head as she scooted away.

He caught it and popped it in his mouth with a glower. "Damn rude, stealin' a man's hotdog!"

While Kiran and Vivian laughed at their antics, Vincent rolled his eyes. He held his lunchbox out to Cid, bobbing it a little in invitation. Someone had taken the time to craft a rice ball into the shape of a mog head, complete with a tomato deely bopper.

"Holy shit." Cid shook his head, but filched the tomato and one of Vincent's slices of ham.

"Do you like 'em?" Kiran asked. "Mama has a lot of fun doing lunch boxes."

Yuffie, around a mouthful of food, answered while waving her chopsticks, "She's way skilled!"

Cid nodded. The whole thing was excessively cute and probably girly, but he had to admit it was far beyond his skill level. And the small pieces tricked the brain into thinking it was less food than it was, so that even Vincent managed to pick through most of his box unassisted.

After they'd cleaned up, the group moved on. Trees gave away to rocky cliffs and the trail became even more winding. They lost track of the main road for several hours.

"You can see where some of the old ShinRa infrastructure used to be," Vivian said, pointing out odd holes and marks on the cliffs. "They had a base out here, back when they were building the reactor."

Cid gazed up at one particularly deep gash in the side of the mountain and thought about how much things changed... and how much they didn't. He could all too easily see the torrent of mako pouring up from the land.

Vincent walked closer, nudging Cid, then slowing way down to let the others get ahead of them. "I do not remember these marks the last time I passed through here," he said, voice pitched low.

"Think it's the same shit we been chasin'?"

"Yes." Vincent narrowed his eyes, watching Vivian help Yuffie cross over a narrow, rocky bridge that went a ravine. "Our guides may be tangentially related."

"Ah, hell. Should we be worried?"

"I don't have much faith in others."

Cid scoffed a low laugh. "That's puttin' it lightly. Watch our backs, starshine." He hurried to catch up with the others, waving the offer of help off to bound over the gap with ease.

From that point on, Vincent brought up the rear, feigning excessive politeness with demurred, "Ladies first," excuses whenever Kiran or Vivian tried to hang back to help him.

It seemed unlikely that Kiran and Vivian were up to anything beyond doing their jobs. Neither woman brought any noticeable weaponry, and they were the height of courtesy, especially to Yuffie. Still, Cid stayed on his guard, glad to have his spear in one hand and Vincent at his back.

The cry of a needle kiss cut through the quiet afternoon. Vivian held a hand up, halting the group without a word spoken. Another call answered the first, off to the left of the trail and much closer. Cid's grip on his spear tightened. Needle kiss could be almost as much trouble as cokatolis, and both were a damn good reason to never visit Mt Corel if it could be avoided.

Another squawk, followed by the rustle of leaves. A rabbit darted across the trail and vanished into the underbrush. All of a sudden, the bird burst out in front of them, crackling static. It let out a warning shriek on seeing them, and a number of other birds answered.

"Run--" Kiran yelled, but was drowned out by the crack of gunfire.

A gout of blood spurted from the bird's eye. It collapsed in a limp heap, not even twitching. Both Kiran and Vivian stared in dumbstruck shock at the dead bird, then slowly turned to look at Vincent, who twirled his gun but did not holster it.

"Heads up," he said.

More needle kisses flew over the lip of the cliff above them, lightning arcing around them. Cid dropped his duffle bag, taking his spear into both hands, and leapt up to meet the first bird. He swung his spear in a wide arc, cutting through feather and gristle with a jarring crunch. Electricity jittered down the length of his spear, sinking into his nerves with shuddering pain. He couldn't let go, and his landing was rough.

Vincent shot down the next bird before it could reach Cid. Yuffie jump kicked the third, snapping its neck with a sickening crack.

The battle was over almost before it began. Cid pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt off his knees. His arms felt numb and tingly, but he could move easily and his grip wasn't slack. He thumbed his nose at the dead birds and hawked a wad of spit off to the side.

"Dumb fucks."

"You guys..." Vivian rubbed at the divot of her collar bone, glancing between the dead birds and each of them. "You're not, uh, even a little fazed?"

Yuffie shrugged, a little self conscious, but not enough to pretend she hadn't demonstrated an impressive feat of martial arts. "Nope. Should we be?"

"Jeez," Kiran muttered, tugging at a lock of her hair. "Here I was _worried_."

"Don't you two have weapons?"

"Oh, sure, I've got a gun," Kiran admitted. "Viv has some materia. But we almost never need it these days..."

Vincent said, "You two should be less careless."

"Um, but, not to say that wasn’t impressive, but we should probably keep moving." Vivian looked up at the cliff, frowning. "Even if there aren't anymore, the bodies will probably attract bigger predators..."

"Well, let's fuckin' mosey."

Cid grabbed his duffle bag and set off down the trail, no longer going at the dawdling pace their guides had set. Yuffie and the other two women fell in behind him, talking quietly, and Vincent brought up the rear.

Not long after they left the area, hissing snarls could be heard as some kind of beasts descended upon the free meal and fought over it.

Kiran and Vivian kept looking back nervously, but they didn't slow down any, so Cid paid it little mind.

"I guess we should stay in Costa del Sol overnight," he heard Vivian say.

"Yeah, just to be safe," Kiran answered.

Yuffie’s voice was full of concern. “Are you two gonna be okay?”

Vivian deflected with, “Sure,” and Kiran elaborated, “We can catch a truck back to Mama’s, don't worry.”

A few minutes later, the path forked. Cid slowed to a stop, waiting for the guides to catch up. He didn't even have to voice the question; Vivian gestured towards the path that went higher up into the rocky cliffs. The group moved on, leaving the sparse tree line behind in favor of knee high, thorny shrubs and whispering grass that swayed in the wind. The walls of the cliff were pockmarked with caves, many of them looking new and too uniform.

As much as Cid wanted to voice sarcastic doubt, he didn't know enough to risk either of their guides turning on them. He couldn't help searching for the telltale glow of mako within the shadowy depths of the caves, though, and felt relief to not find it.

What he _did_ find were the tracks of a large bird crossing their path. Neither Vivian nor Kiran commented on it, maybe unaware of what it meant. Cid looked back, exchanging meaningful looks with Vincent. Yuffie just looked confused until Cid scuffed his boot, drawing attention to the ground.

Back in the day, cokatolis never came that far down from the mountain. With a new road, and humans moving into the area, it wasn't that surprising to learn things had changed.

Vincent spotted the first empty nest before anyone else. "Three o'clock," he said.

The thing was wedged between rocks, falling to pieces from disuse. No mistaking the color of the feathers scattered in around it. Cid swore under his breath, shifting the strap of his duffle bag onto his other shoulder and swinging the bag so it rested against his lower back. He flexed his hands around the shaft of his spear, still feeling the pins and needles and lack of sensation.

Entering into cokatolis territory was always a grade A bad idea. Didn't matter if they were currently nesting or not.

"Let's keep movin', but don't make a lotta noise."

They only made it another hundred feet or so before finding another nest. That one still had cracked eggshells in it, indicating recent use. Another lay not much further on, practically in the middle of the trail. The group stopped well away from it.

"What the hell ya get us into, ladies?" Cid demanded.

"Sorry!" Kiran ducked her head, gaze averted. "It wasn't like this the last time we came through..."

"When was that?" Yuffie wondered. "Seems weird that you're tour guides but haven't been on the designated trail in a while..."

"Um."

"Look out!" Vivian shouted, pulling Kiran back behind her.

A huge cokatolis sprang from behind a nearby boulder, its spurs slicing through the air. It let out an ear piercing shriek that made everyone flinch, slowing their reaction time. Right on its tail were three smaller birds, no less furious for the intrusion on their nesting ground.

"God damn it."

Dragging his ear against his shoulder did nothing to dissipate the high pitched ringing. All it did was give one of the birds a chance to get close, sharp beak jabbing towards the soft meat of Cid's thigh.

A thin white light came up between the bird and himself at the last second. It recoiled with a squawk and jumped back. Cid glanced around, and saw Vivian with her fist in the air, the silver bangle around her wrist gleaming from the amount of materia slotted in it.

"Sorry," she said, over the crack of gunfire. "We weren't being entirely honest about being normal tour guides... But we're not getting paid enough to die."

"We're gonna fuckin' talk 'bout this later," Cid snapped.

He jumped into the fray, spinning his spear. The bird darted to avoid him, only to get sideswiped by Yuffie and her stupidly big shuriken. The girl laughed triumphantly as the bird staggered from the hit, giving Vincent time to line up a shot that blew its head clean off in a spray of gore.

Kiran made an urping noise and retreated into the bushes to empty her stomach. Vivian backed off as well, keeping herself between the fight and her partner.

The biggest of the birds threw its head back, wings spread, and began to do the drumming stamp of a cokatolis about to sing. Its throat wobbled rapidly up and down as it began to croak.

The other two birds rushed forward, kicking up dust as they jumped talon first at Yuffie. Cid raced in, throwing himself in the way with his spear braced. One deadly set of claws smashed into the spear and slid to the side. That bird kicked off, flapping its wings to regain its balance. The other bird slammed into Cid, shattering the barrier into hundreds of sparkles. Its talons raked down his side, over his hip, all the way down to his knee, shredding clothes and flesh alike.

"Cid!" Yuffie shouted, bracing her hands against his shoulders to keep him from toppling under the weight of the bird still kicking and pecking.

Everything seemed to slow as the song swelled in the background. Cid twisted, trying to throw his attacker off, but it felt like moving through molasses. Red hot pain scored him to the bone, molten in its intensity. The edges of his vision began to darken, his thoughts becoming cloudy and distant.

A deep, teeth-rattling roar tore through the song, breaking the spell. Something huge and purple slammed into the bird on top of Cid, smashing it into the ground a good three feet away. The bird never even had the chance to make a sound, it was dead on impact.

The Galian Beast threw its head back, spitting fire at the heavens. The remaining two cokatolis shied back, feathers fluffed up, but didn't flee. That was their end. The Beast fell upon them in a frenzy of claws, snarling and spitting fire with every breath as it ripped the birds to pieces.

When it finished, nothing remained but feathers and a heap of bloody, fractured bones scattered about.

Yuffie didn't stick around to watch. She dragged Cid off the trail, straining with the effort because he could only half-hobble on the one leg. The other was dead weight. They retreated into the bushes, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. The thorns caught on their clothes and scratched their skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she said, voicing Cid's thoughts, which he found funny enough to wheeze at.

They burst out of the other side of the bushes, staggered past yet more cokatolis nests, and took shelter in the lee of a rock. Yuffie laid Cid out on his back and fumbled at her bangle to check her materia.

"Okay, time to stop bleeding to death."

She held her hands out over Cid's leg, frowning with concentration. The thing nobody ever gave Yuffie credit for was that she was extremely skilled at an absurd number of materia. The shimmering green light that enveloped Cid's body did not feel cold, did not forcibly yank him back together, and best of all, didn't leave his head spinning with soul-crushing fatigue. It eased over him like warm bathwater, closing the gashes and washing away the dozens of little scratches from the thorns. It left behind a vague tenderness, but little else.

"Thanks, kid," Cid said, reaching up to steady Yuffie as she slumped.

She smiled, wavering but sharp, and wiped sweat from her brow. "No problem, old man."

Their relief was cut short by the rising snarl of the Beast and one of the guides screaming. Cid rolled to his feet, shedding his duffle bag in a hurry. He'd dropped his spear back on the trail. Yuffie jumped up, but swayed a little.

"Catch yer breath, alright?"

She nodded, sucking in big gulps of air, and yanked her bangle off to thrust it at him. It was too small to fit on his wrist, so he had to hold it in one hand, but any materia was better than none when the enemy was the Galian Beast.

He jumped clear over the bushes, sailing through the air with his shirt flapping. Down below, he made out the Beast cornering the two women against the rocks. It wasn't spitting fire anymore, but a stream of smoke trailed from its maw.

Cid landed a few feet away, rolling on impact to avoid breaking his leg. "Hey, fucker!" he shouted.

The Beast turned towards him with a growl. Cid let loose a skittering wave of Thundaga, which crawled across the ground like glowing spiders, converging on the Beast. It howled, shuddering, as the electricity hit. Cid didn't wait for it to recover, running for his spear, which still had Tifa'a sleep materia in it.

The minute he reached it, Cid grabbed the spear and ran. The Beast was right on his heels, hot breath on his neck, as it raced after him on all fours. He couldn’t outrun it, and zagging to the side only bought him another second, not enough to get the sleep spell off.

The Beast slammed into him; he lost his grip on the spear but not Yuffie’s bangle. They went rolling across the ground and came to a stop with Cid pinned. He saw stars from being slammed down, but never felt the expected pain that should have followed for being ripped to pieces. Warily, he squeezed one eye open.

The Galian Beast loomed over him, bloody maw inches from his face. It didn’t growl or bare its teeth. Slow and deep, it inhaled and exhaled. When he tried to move, it flexed its claws against his shoulder and chest, as if to remind him that he’d better stay still.

“What the fuck, Vince,” Cid wheezed, struggling for breath under all the weight.

The Beast lowered its snout towards Cid’s neck, still snuffling. Then it snapped its head up with a growl at the sound of a boot scraping in the dirt. Yuffie hefted Cid’s spear awkwardly.

“Sleepy time, pal!”

A thick cloud of yellow lights fell over them. The Beast’s rising snarl died in its throat, its lunge aborted. It fell off Cid and hit the ground snoring. Cid wasn't far behind, consciousness slipping away despite his best attempts to resist.


	34. hear my battle

Something patted against his cheek, rapid and stinging. He swatted at it ineffectually, feeling sluggish and as if his limbs weighed tons. The little slaps continued, forcing him to open his eyes with a groan of, "Fuck _off_."

"You’re awake. Finally." Yuffie blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs.

Cid squinted at her until there was only one of her that did not wobble around alarmingly. He blinked his eyes a few times, then rubbed at them to rid himself of the stinging moisture gathered in the corners.

"Wha' happened?"

"You got caught in the sleep, sorry." She thrust a water bottle into his hands. "You've been asleep for almost an hour."

"Fuck."

Cid sat up with some difficulty, then took a generous, if messy, drink of water. His throat felt raw and tight, his mouth sour like he'd been throwing up. Tiredly, he looked around and saw that Yuffie had managed to get both he and Vincent to the hiding spot by the rock. Their things lay in a heap nearby. Yuffie herself looked sweaty and exhausted.

"Where'd our guides go?" Cid asked, offering the water bottle back.

She took it, and chugged for several long moments before answering. "Uh, ran off. Don't think they'll come back. Vincent really scared them..."

“Shit. Some fuckin’ service, huh, ain’t even have the courtesy to tell us who to thank for their hospitality.”

Yuffie guffawed into the heel of her palm. The noise was a little hysterical. Cid grinned lopsidedly at her because frayed nerves were all too familiar. The day had taken a hell of a downswing.

Vincent lay motionless beside Cid, his breathing slow and shallow enough that he seemed dead. Just to be sure, Cid laid his hand against the other man's chest, feeling the hard edges of the dog tags beneath the shirt, and vibrating through that, a strong heartbeat. Shaky relief worked its way down Cid’s neck, settling warmly deep in his core.

"...He was actin' weird, before ya hit the snooze button."

"How so?"

"Iunno. He said he been strugglin' for control, but the beast stopped fightin' after it pinned me."

"So it _wasn't_ going to tear you to pieces?"

Cid shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so."

"Huh. Maybe Vincent came through? He used to do okay before Deepground..."

"Mebbe."

The alarmed squawk of a cokatolis nearby cut off any further discussion. Other birds answered, and then there came a small scuffling from the birds. It was likely that they fought over the remains, but Cid couldn't help but wonder if it was distress over having their nesting grounds disturbed. He couldn't remember if cokatolis were as intelligent as chocobos or not.

With her finger to her lips, Yuffie stared in that direction, hunkering down in a low crouch. She flicked her wrist deftly and all of a sudden she held a thin knife between forefinger and middle finger. Cid glanced around, saw that his spear was _just_ out of reach, and mentally cursed.

Instead of coming closer, the noises of the birds got further away. Yuffie relaxed only slightly, exhaling soft and quiet through her teeth. She tucked the knife away.

"We should get out of here," she whispered.

Cid nodded, but did not move for another minute or so, listening to make sure the birds weren't gonna come barreling back over. Only when he felt reasonably confident did he slide over to grab his spear, checking the materia, though he knew that not only did he still have Tifa's sleep materia, but slotted right next to it was her heal. He rubbed his thumb over it.

"Might back it up," he said. "Just in case."

Casting a furtive look at Vincent, Yuffie crawled back, putting the pile of bags between herself and the unconscious man. She gave a wobbly thumbs up when she was ready.

Cid held his spear out over Vincent's body, activating the materia. Flickering green orbs materialized, drifting around Vincent like lightning bugs. As they touched down on his body, they popped and went out in small white sparks.

Red eyes snapped open.

"Hey, Vin--?"

"G-- guh-- Rrrrrr."

Vincent's whole body shuddered, flesh rippling as if disconnected from his bones. Shadowy purple tendrils swirled up around him, whipping up the wind strong enough that it send Cid sliding away. He threw his arm in front of his eyes, shielding himself from debris flying around. Snarling filled the air, punctuated by the cracking of bone and the wet slap of gore splattering.

"Cid!" Yuffie shouted.

"Yeah, I know!"

He lifted his spear skyward, activating the sleep materia. The yellow fog descended on the Beast, but the vortex of energy cut through it, dissipating it before it could reach the twisted form at the center.

And then the beast threw its head back and _howled_ , sending out a shock wave that shook the ground. The wind and shadowy energy cut off sharply, leaving behind an eerie calm. The beast panted harshly, swinging its head back and forth between its two potential prey.

"Hey, asshole, c'mon over here!!" Cid yelled, jumping up and waving his arms.

The beast turned fully towards him, front claws splayed on the ground. It tossed its head, snapping teeth, bristling up. With a roar, it charged, horns first. Cid twisted out of the way a second too late, felt one horn catch his shirt, scraping off the side of his ribs. A huge, muscled shoulder slammed into his gut a moment later, bowling him over.

Somehow, he managed to hang onto his spear as he went down, pinned under the beast for the second time that day.

Galian Beast held him down with one wicked set of claws splayed over his chest. He shoved the shaft of his spear up against its throat, but it was too strong for him to hold it back for long. The dog tags rattled against the spear as it strained against him, forcing his shaking arms to bend bit by bit..

It put its mouth around his right shoulder, but did not bite down, growling low and steady. Cid stilled, barely breathing.

In the background, he saw Yuffie climb on top of the rock. She crouched, one hand braced on the ground between her feet, and drew her shuriken back behind her, ready to let it fly.

"Don't," Cid said, partly to the beast but mostly to Yuffie.

She didn't move, except to mouth a silent, incredulous, _What?!_

The beast peeled its lips back, showing the rows of teeth that could rip Cid up. Thick, hot globs of drool dripped down, soaking Cid's shirt. Baleful red eyes rolled in their sockets, focusing on him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. He didn't know whether staring back was a threatening display, but he couldn't look away.

Smoke billowed out from the beast's maw, glowing orange building up behind teeth. Cid tensed, expecting the fire to come at any moment. 

It never did.

"Starshine..."

Galian Beast gave a full body shudder, whining. Gingerly, it opened its jaws, releasing Cid, and ran its long tongue against the indents left behind. Soon, it snuffled its way down to the open wound seeping through Cid's tattered shirt. Something in its gaze softened, ears backed and head lowered.

"...Are ya in there, Vince?"

An unhappy grunt answered him. The beast moved off to the side, lying heavily with its head on its paws, tail curled around itself.

Cid sat up with some difficulty, pressing a hand to his side. "Holy shit."

"Vincent?" Yuffie asked, still atop her rock.

The beast snapped its head up, bristling... and then shook itself out. It sank back down, lying prone. Cid frowned, gripping his spear tight. It looked an awful lot like Vincent was there, but struggling.

"Can't he change back yet?"

As if to answer, flickers of that weird purple energy coiled around the beast’s limbs but didn't solidify. The monstrous form remained unchanged. The beast made another miserable noise, dragging its claws in the dirt to make deep lines.

"Don't think so."

Since waking the beast, the cokatolis had gone completely silent. In fact, the entire area was quiet, devoid of any noise. No bugs, no birds, nothing. Cid tilted his head, listening, then shrugged one shoulder gingerly. He supposed it counted as one small favor. Another fight could be their end, with Vincent barely there, Yuffie winded, and him injured _again_.

“Fuck, we _really_ gotta get outta here.”

"No joke."

Yuffie eased down off of the rock. At every scrape of her shoes, the beast’s ears flicked; it watched her with wary interest, but held itself motionless against the ground with visible effort that made its shoulders shake. Despite the clear struggle, there were no displays of threat, and not a sound made but for deep, panting breaths.

"Ya gonna be alright if Yuffie comes over here and helps me out, Vince?"

A grunt didn't inspire much confidence, but Cid couldn't see any other option, not when blood continued to trickle down his side at a steady rate. Soon the lightheadedness would set in. He laid his spear in his lap and pointed towards his bag.

"Got a first aid kit in there."

"I could heal you," Yuffie said, with more confidence than the situation warranted.

Nevertheless, she got the first aid kit out and brought it over. When she kneeled near Cid, the beast rumbled low, bristling, but it still didn't move. Cid flipped it off for making Yuffie flinch and shy around behind him, as if he were any kind of barrier to stop an attack. The gesture seemed to startle the beast enough to silence it.

"I'd like to _not_ be eaten, thanks," Yuffie muttered, peering past Cid's shoulder at the beast.

Cid flipped the tin first aid kit open, revealing neatly packed bandages, disinfectant, and slim vials of potions. He passed one of the blue ones to Yuffie and helped himself to a green one.

Yuffie chugged hers, making a disgusted noise after. "Bleh, sweet mana. Why are you so good but so _nasty_?" Already, she sounded less winded.

As for Cid, the slimy potion couldn't completely heal him, but it stopped the flow of blood with a thin veneer of scabbing. He pulled his ruined shirt off with some difficulty. It didn't seem like he'd need stitches, at least not right then.

"You sure you don't want me to cast a cure?"

"Save yer energy."

Cid thrust the disinfectant wipes and bandaging at the girl. She hummed, dissatisfied, but got to work, deftly cleaning the area and bandaging him up. They'd all had far too much practice patching each other up, and Cid didn't know whether to be relieved or not that Yuffie had learned how to be gentle somewhere along the line.

"Thanks, Yuffie," he said, once she'd finished.

"Of course. Can't have you dying on me, it reflects badly on my hero cred." She smiled, repacking the first aid kit. "Also, I don't think I can carry everything back. I'd have to leave your body for the birds. Mega gross."

"Yeah, shitty place to die."

Cid climbed to his feet, leaning heavily on his spear until the vertigo passed. He waved Yuffie off, flashing a fierce grin at her. Then he walked over to the bags to get a change of clothes. He changed on the far side of the rock for a modicum of privacy that was quickly invaded by the Galian Beast peering around the corner with just one eye, like it thought he might disappear.

"What ya lookin' at," Cid grumbled, yanking his pants up.

The beast made a garbled noise, struggling and croaking out syllables. Eventually it managed to rumble, "Sh... Shid."

Not once in all the years he'd known Vincent had he ever heard the monsters speak--except Chaos, and then only if Vincent were in control. Cid blinked, mouth falling open.

"Is it all you in there, Vince?"

The beast crept closer, made more inarticulate noises, but could not seem to form the words. It slumped with a growl, scraping its claws along the base of the rock, making sparks. But it did not seem to be directing that anger outwards, watching Cid with what looked like morose defeat, if something with a canine snout was capable of emoting at all like a human.

"Uh..." Cid pulled his shirt on, wincing at the sting for moving too much. "How's 'bout writin'?"

That gave the beast pause. It considered its claws, flexing them. After a moment, it pawed at the ground, tearing up shrubby grey-brown grass to clear out a patch of bare dirt.

"Hey, Cid, are you okay back there?" Yuffie asked.

"'M fine."

Absorbed in its task, the beast barely flicked an ear at her voice. She snuck around the other side of the rock, and on seeing what was happening, came to stand by Cid, watching the beast scratch out jagged letters. Though clearly of sound enough mind to remember _how_ to write, something must have been misfiring in the beast’s brain because the letters ran together in a nearly incoherent repeat.

{knonoknono bee bea beeseast. im me me me im hear}

"Woah," Yuffie breathed.

"There's no beast?"

The beast--Vincent--bobbed his head, sweeping away the words for a repeat of, {im hear} in much larger letters. {onononlonely VINCENT}

"Then why the _fuck_ ya been hittin' yer goddamn friends, ya asshole?" Cid huffed, scuffing the dirt with his heel.

Vincent backed up, away from him, head down and tail tucked. He made a groaning noise, trying to talk again, and what came out was an oddly high pitched yelp, then a croaky, "Shorr...ee."

"Maybe it's instincts," Yuffie suggested, poking Cid in the side, right in the soft bit between ribs and hips. "You're pudgy enough to get mistaken for food!"

"Like _hell_." Cid swatted at her, without rancor. She avoided it easily.

Meanwhile, Vincent clawed out the word, {instininctctininct}. Below that, he added in crooked, meandering letters as if each one was becoming harder to get out than the last, {to much}.

"See!"

Cid sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, damn."

Both Yuffie and Vincent were looking up at him, waiting for him to come up with a plan of action. For once, he felt genuinely stumped. So he fell back on the old standby, getting out a cigarette and lighting up. The nicotine soothed frazzled nerves and made it easier to think.

“Okay,” he said, after several minutes of smoking and tapping his foot.

Yuffie straightened from where she leaned against the rock. Vincent lifted his head, ears perked.

“Burn the evidence we were here, just in case our guides're still on someone's payroll." Cid pointed at Vincent with the two fingers that held his cigarette. "Don't burn the damn countryside down."

With a snort, Vincent rose up onto his hind legs. He towered over them, but hunched his shoulders and kept his head low, as though he could possibly make himself smaller. Every step he took was cautious and a little trembling, but grew in confidence as neither of his friends flinched as they moved out of his way.

He paused by Cid, hesitantly lowering his snout, and Cid couldn't resist reaching up to touch. He'd never been able to before and found the fur on the beast’s face was short and soft. Vincent's eyes drooped closed, the tip of his tail wagging.

"Oh, Gaia," Yuffie said, quiet and delighted.

Cid eyed her sourly as Vincent pulled away too fast, putting distance between them. "What?"

"It's just-- if this is a thing! You know, if Vincent can control it, how cool is that? Imagine the possibilities."

As she spoke, Yuffie gestured widely, walking towards their bags, which coincidentally put more space between herself and Vincent. Must not have been cool enough to totally trust him yet. Cid thumbed his nose.

Meanwhile, Vincent used his claws to snag the bloodied rags that Cid had changed out of, and then went off towards the cokatolis nests. A moment later, the area lit up with flickering orange light, heat radiating outwards. Tense, Cid watched that direction for a minute or two, finding it eerie that the only noise was the crackle of flames. The cokatolis were long gone, it seemed, and Vincent apparently didn't feel the need to make as much noise when he was of sound mind. Not that he ever did.

Cid joined Yuffie at the bags. She'd shouldered hers and stood waiting in what counted for being at attention--a hand on her hip, phone out but screen dark.

"I texted Mr. Cat so he knows to investigate the Queen Bee," she explained. "What's the next step?"

"Good fuckin' deal." Cid bent to give Vincent's bag an experimental lift. It was exactly as horrifically heavy as he feared it might be. "Props to ya for movin' this damn thing, shit."

"No joke, right? Vincent is super strong. Do you think he can manage carrying his own stuff?"

"Iunno, but he gonna hafta try."

Standing, Cid gazed the opposite direction of the flames, which had already begun to die down. Then he looked at the sky, taking in the streaks of purple and pink, the barest twinkle of stars becoming visible. He took a moment to get his bearings and soon had a fair idea which way the road lay.

"Someone's gonna see the fire and they'll come lookin'." Cid pointed towards where Costa del Sol should be. "With Vince like he is, we gotta avoid the road."

"Oh, man, this is gonna suck..."

"Yep."

Vincent came trudging back when the flames died down. His fur was sooty but uncharred, as the beast seemed immune to the fire it breathed. When Cid hefted his bag, Vincent lowered himself to let it be slung over his neck and shoulder without needing to be told. He nosed at Cid's bag, too, and refused to get up until it was secured over the other shoulder. That suited Cid fine, since it left both hands free for his spear _and_ kept the weight off his injured side, which still smarted with every little movement.

"Alright, starshine, uh, we gotta get a move on. Ya give a growl or somethin' if ya feelin' yer grip slippin', okay?"

Vincent gave a grunt that sounded vaguely acquiescing. Cid nodded, as though that decided everything.

"Go ahead and take point, Yuffie. I'll take the middle cuz I've got the means to put unruly beasts to bed." He shot Vincent a vaguely apologetic look as he said it, but the beast only snorted, standing at much more ease.

"Sure thing, captain."

Yuffie had always been good at scouting ahead. She possessed a nearly supernatural ability to spot good terrain and handholds, and her instinct for what paths to take rarely steered anyone wrong, as long as they didn't mind detours for treasure. That evening though, Yuffie didn't stray. She lead them straight on, avoiding the main road and getting them down from cokatolis territory. Vincent's presence scared would-be attackers away, so they had an easy enough time of it.

Once, they came close enough to the road to see the road. Water trucks sped by, lights flashing, followed by a caravan full of people. Cid thought that a pretty fast turnaround for a place out in the middle of nowhere. He wondered what kind of surveillance the mountains had, and whether they'd been watched the whole time.

"Hey, Yuffie, find us somewhere safe to camp."

"...Yeah," she said, dragging her gaze away from the dwindling emergency lights in order to resume walking.

Somehow, Vincent kept it together for the entire walk, startling and growling only twice--both times brought on by going too near the road right as trucks raced by. Yuffie took more care after the second time, when the trucks slowed down, spotlights searching the cliffs. They weren't spotted, but it was a near thing.

Yuffie found a cave near the base of the mountain, hidden behind a tangle of trees and bushes. Or, from the familiar way she pulled at the branches just so to untangle them, revealing the opening with a dramatic flourish, orange and yellow leaves drifting down around her, she merely chose to reveal one of her hidey holes.

"Spend much fuckin' time 'round here?"

"I don't go up into Mt Corel, but I've had missions out here," she admitted. "There's a little waterfall about thirty feet from here."

The inside of the cave was tidy, if low in ceiling. Yuffie's previous visits meant that a small crate of supplies lay in the very back of the cave. She went to it immediately and started setting up to stay there overnight. There were bedrolls, a dim lantern, and even hardtack and canned fruit for dinner.

Vincent shook the bags off near the entrance and refused to come inside. No amount of coaxing changed his mind; he stalked off into the night, leaving Cid to sigh worriedly.

"He'll be okay, right?"

"Dunno."

Yuffie sighed at him, like he answered incorrectly, but Cid couldn't see how there was any other answer. He dragged the bags further into the cave, then laid on one of the bedrolls. Food held no interest for him; he was too exhausted for anything but falling right to sleep.


	35. all the world

Late in the night, Cid woke to a hand pressed against his heartbeat, fingers tapping. Vincent loomed over him, haggard and pale, but human. His clothes were filthy but not torn.

Cid cast a glance over at Yuffie, who slept on next to the lantern, the pale yellow light illuminating her face. He had the vague memory that she hadn't wanted to turn it off, hadn't wanted to sleep at all, but fatigue got the best of her eventually.

Not wanting to wake her, he rolled out of his bedroll as quiet as possible. Vincent shifted out of the way, watching him. Cid held his hand out, helping Vincent up, and tugged him over to their bags to fetch a change of clothes. The risk that Yuffie _would_ wake up rose the longer they shuffled about. Vincent cast pointed looks towards the cave entrance, and Cid followed him out into the dark.

Neither needed the light, though Cid hesitated a moment, letting his eyes adjust. Vincent walked half a step ahead, leading the way to the stream. It was narrow and shallow, barely a trickle at its thinnest and only going up to Cid's wrist at its deepest. The waterfall turned out to be blocked up, though he couldn't see the cause.

Vincent held his hand out, expectant and silent.

"Hey," Cid said, and did not give Vincent the clothes yet. "Welcome back, starshine."

The taller man froze, then his shoulders slumped. He shook his head, but it was weak. One step forward was all it took for him to lay his hand against Cid's pulse at his neck. Two steps brought him close enough to press their foreheads together.

"I almost--" Vincent's voice rasped, and he turned his face away to smother a cough that didn't sound wet.

Cid waited it out, then insisted, "Didn't."

"Hn."

Because it was painfully obvious that not only had the transformation gone haywire and gone on for way too damn long, but Vincent wasn't going to recover easily, Cid took it upon himself to help with the change of clothes. Vincent let him do it, too, only sighing with resignation at the insistent tugging at the dirty shirt he wore. Cid didn't drag the process out. He had Vincent changed as fast as possible, and when he finished, he dunked his handkerchief, thankfully unused, in the water and passed it over.

"Thank you," Vincent murmured, using the wet rag to wipe his hand, face, and neck.

"Always." Cid gathered up the dirty clothes, rolling them into a tight bundle. He tucked it under his elbow and leaned towards Vincent. "Ya and me, we're gonna have to talk 'bout what's goin' on with the beast."

Vincent tucked his chin, looking away. "Alright."

"...But not right now." Under a wary, sidelong gaze, Cid lifted his forefinger and waggled it. "Right now, we're gonna go back, yer gonna eat some mushy canned fruit, and then we're gonna get some sleep 'cuz we got a long fuckin' day ahead of us."

"If... you say so, Cid."

Frowning, Cid took a couple steps back the way they'd come. He stopped and turned back towards Vincent, hands on his hips. "Somethin' up?"

Vincent lifted his hand, reaching, but before he made contact, he curled his fingers and dropped his arm. "No, it's nothing."

"Vince, c'mon..."

"Refusal to acknowledge my guilt does not negate it."

The distance between them grew as Vincent turned away, folding his arms. He did not hunch, but the line of his shoulders was tense to the point of causing a faint tremor.

"That's not--" Cid groaned, dragging his hand through his hair. "Dammit, I wasn't tryin' to dismiss yer feelings or nothin', Vince."

"I know," Vincent said, softly. "But I am... actively a danger to you, to our friends."

"It ain't yer fault."

"My condition is not, but I should be held accountable for my lack of control. I cannot, will not, add you or the others to my sins." The more Vincent spoke, the flatter his tone became, as though he wanted to be as far away from his emotions as possible.

Cid sighed through his nose, rubbing at the skin of his arm above his elbow. He wasn't cold, but the rough, bruising sensation helped keep the growing apprehension at bay. "Well, what the hell do ya wanna do?"

"I should leave."

Exactly what Cid feared he'd say. The objection came fast and sharp: " _Hell_ no."

"No," Vincent admitted. "I cannot leave you and Yuffie to fend for yourselves. It would be the same as killing you myself."

"We ain't gonna fuckin' die, Vince, holy hell."

"Can you be certain of that?"

The space between them came to be too much. At the risk of making Vincent retreat all together, Cid closed the distance. He laid his hand against Vincent’s back, tentative at first, then more firmly as he felt muscles tense beneath his palm.

"I ain't certain of shit 'cept the fact that I'd chase ya through hell itself if ya act on these damn foolish ideas of runnin' off."

“I cannot see what other option there might be, Highwind. I might never control this destructive impulse.”

“Ya managed pretty alright today,” Cid said.

“I _hurt_ you.”

“My own damn fault. But my point bein’, when we're done with this mission, mebbe we oughta take some time to see if ya can learn to control it again.”

Vincent turned his head, finally looking at Cid, even if he did so from behind his bangs. He said nothing for several moments, then sighed. “Only with safety precautions, and only because I… loath the thought of being apart.”

Cid grinned, throwing his arm around Vincent, and hugged him close. “We’ll get through this, starshine.”

With no small amount of hesitance, Vincent laid his hand over Cid’s wrist. He squeezed briefly, not exactly relaxing into the embrace but not resisting any longer.

“Help me be worthy of you, Chief.”

“I'd say ya already are… but I'm happy to help ya learn to believe it.”

“Thank you.”

After a while of contemplative silence in the cool night air, doing nothing but breathing and leaning against each other, Vincent plucked at Cid’s arm, disentangling them. Then he faced Cid, pulling that caught wrist to his mouth to press a light kiss against the pulse there.

“I believe you threatened me with mushy canned fruit…?”

“Oh, sure. Prolly a nasty tastin’ potion in yer future too, yer voice sounds like shit.”

“Breathing fire does that.”

Chuckling, Cid grabbed Vincent’s hand and tugged him back to the cave. Yuffie still slept, curled around the lantern. She didn't stir at all when Cid dug out the first aid kit for a potion, nor when he got a can of fruit cocktail from her stash and popped the pull tab open. He sat on his bedroll with Vincent and oversaw the reluctant consumption of both foul tasting concoctions. But he did take pity on Vincent and only made him eat about half the fruit. In turn, Vincent insisted on using materia to heal Cid’s side.

“C’mon, let's get some sleep,” Cid whispered, as fatigue washed over him.

As they’d done many times before, they arranged their bedding so that they could sleep next to each other under the same blanket. Vincent kept his distance until Cid dragged him closer, pulling a barely resisting arm up to plant Vincent’s hand against his heartbeat. He shot a challenging look at Vincent but received only a look of tired amusement in return.

Sleep came quick after that. Things weren't totally right in the world, but he thought it would be as long as they stuck together.

When Yuffie found Vincent had not only come back but was human again, she let out a whoop, bounding up to him. She held her palm up and said, "High five!"

"What?" Vincent asked, keeping his arms stubbornly folded.

With a long suffering sigh, Yuffie pointed at his flesh arm, then tapped her fingertip against her palm. "Yanno, high five? I could have _sworn_ I taught you this already!"

"I know what it is, Yuffie. I don't understand what the occasion is."

"You're back to normal! C'moooon!"

With a slow sigh, Vincent unfolded his arms and reluctantly touched his palm to Yuffie's, not even remotely trying for the satisfying slap of a proper high five. She remedied that, pulling her arm back and letting fly so that the second pass made a loud clap. Of course, she regretted immediately, shaking her hand out and dancing from foot to foot.

Vincent shot sidelong glares at both Yuffie and Cid. "Neither of you ever has the sense to acknowledge the gravity of a situation. Do you sleep easier, wrapped up in naive optimism?"

"Nah," Cid said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I sleep like shit if ya ain't there, so... a _lil_ celebration's in order. Grats on survivin' another fuckarow."

When Yuffie laughed and accosted him for a high five, Cid put his hand up automatically. She didn't hit as hard as she'd done to Vincent, if her lack of wincing afterwards was any indication, but his hand still tingled after.

"Ridiculous," Vincent murmured, and gave his most disdainful look when Cid cheekily held his hand up at him for another round.

"Aw, what, you'll lay some skin on Yuffie but not _me_? The hell I do to deserve this mistreatment, starshine?"

"You probably snored too loud," Yuffie said. She grabbed her stuff and headed for the mouth of the cave. "He sounds _extra_ grumpy this morning..."

The minute Yuffie was out of sight, Vincent said, "If I were going to celebrate something, it wouldn't be merely getting through a single incident with no great tragedies." He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked passed Cid. "And I can think of better options than slapping our hands together."

"Oh yeah?" Cid trotted to catch up, falling in step with Vincent as they exited out into the too warm sunshine. "You’ll have to tell me what's worth celebratin' and how, later."

"Hm. Later."

Vincent bumped his shoulder against Cid's, looking straight ahead, out towards the ocean glittering in the distance. They could just make out Costa del Sol, its bright orange roofs unchanged, if multiplied in number.

Behind them, Yuffie secured the branches over the cave entrance, hiding it from view once again. Then she darted ahead, pointing dramatically.

"Okay, let's go!"

The last leg of the journey took them maybe an hour of fast walking, now that they had no tour guides slowing them down. It was hot and muggy though, and by the time they reached the point where the grey tarmac road gave away to the yellow brick of the city, Cid felt rivulets of sweat running down his back. He shifted his bag from one side to the other and lifted the hem of his shirt to let the weak ocean breeze in. It didn't help much.

"Fuckin' meltin' here," he complained.

Even Vincent looked wilted, walking with his chin tucked and his hair in his face. He kept his distance from the other two and didn't voice his displeasure, as if he could get away from feeling the heat by sheer force of will.

Yuffie waved them on. "C'mon, let's go find an inn."

Costa del Sol used to be a one inn kind of town, with nothing to it but clean, gorgeous beaches and clear skies ninety percent of the time. Unlike Gongaga, its identity and town center hadn't changed at all, but it had tripled in size. They passed rows and rows of fancy houses and condos before entering into a bustling shopping district. The inns were all closer to the beaches, each one competing with the others with a myriad of adverts claiming more services for cheaper than their competitors.

Overwhelmed by the sheer amount of options, Yuffie stopped on a street corner, hands on her hips, and looked up and down the street. She looked helplessly up at Cid, who shrugged.

"Ain't got a head for this shit..."

They both ended up looking at Vincent. He blinked slowly at them, then looked at the different inns, blinking again as if only just now noticing them. His brow furrowed after a moment.

One of the more surprising things that AVALANCHE discovered was that Vincent could be quite the thrifty fellow, when he cared to bother with finances. Not only did he almost never spend anything because he never really needed to bother with the mundane things a regular human being needed to survive on, but he had a knack for spotting good deals. Cloud used to turn to him for financial advice during the crisis.

Vincent eventually said, "These will all overcharge." He lifted his gauntlet, pointing out the closeness of the beach. "They'll think highly of their establishment for the views alone."

"Oh, so we keep looking?"

With a slight nod, Vincent resumed walking, taking the lead now. He led them almost to the end of the street, then took a left, following whatever sense he had for these things. There, nestled between a bakery and a pet shop that specialized in tropical fish, they found a shabby little inn by the name of "The Cauldron". It did not possess any terrific views, nor did it have a ton of advertisements plastered in its windows. In fact, the only things it had in the window were a vacancy sign and one assuring visitors that there would be free wifi.

They entered and found the lobby to be small and a little rundown, but clean. An excessively large fish tank ran the length of one wall, filled with colorful fish. Likely a gift from the neighbors.

A middle aged, balding man nodded at them from behind the counter. "You wanting rooms?"

"Yep! One for me, one for them." Yuffie went up to the counter, producing a card to pay for their rooms.

The rooms, as it turned out, were as homey as the lobby. Cid investigated the bed first, dumping his stuff on the floor beside it.

"Hey, it ain't as fuckin' squishy as the last. Pillows suck though." He prodded at one hard, flat lump, making a disgusted noise. "Gonna have to ask for more."

"You can take mine."

Vincent deposited his bag in the wardrobe, pulling out his bag of medicine, then stepped into the small bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Cid shrugged and busied himself with changing out of his sweat-soaked clothes, into something lighter and more suited to being trapped in another resort town.

After they were both done freshening up, they headed downstairs to meet Yuffie in the lobby. She sat on a love seat with a map spread out on her knees. A couple of tourist brochures covered the unoccupied cushion.

"Hey, guys," she said, not looking up from marking the map with a yellow highlighter and a black pen. "I think we should split up today and scout out the best places to hang."

Cid leaned his hip against the arm of the couch, hands in his pockets. Vincent settled against a nearby wall. With the clerk occasionally glancing at them with idle curiosity, they couldn't speak plainly.

"How many days ya figure we got for sight seein'?"

"You promised me at _least_ the weekend. I need time to work on my tan!"

"Right."

Cid glanced sidelong at Vincent, who had his eyes closed and chin tucked. Still not _voicing_ displeasure, but not happy all the same.

"Right!" Yuffie shook a corner of the map, rustling it. She pointed at different parts of the town. "So, you'll take these streets here, and dad will get these... And I'll take the rest. Meet up back here for dinner!"

With assignments given out, she folded up the map and gathered all the brochures, stuffing them into her handbag. She waved, smiling, and left.

Cid and Vincent exchanged a look.

"Wanna meet somewhere for lunch?"

"Where?"

"Docks. I'll get us somethin' and we can find somewhere quiet."

Vincent glanced away, considering, then inclined his head slightly. "I'd like that."

"Cool." Cid eyed the clock above the front desk. Barely 0912. "See ya in a couple hours."

"Try not to stir up too much trouble," Vincent said by way of parting words.

They headed outside, shoulders bumping, and then split up, going opposite directions. Predictably, Yuffie gave herself most of the good beachfront properties, splitting up the rest of the town between Cid and Vincent. She'd probably spend the day lazing about on the beach under the guise of people watching.

As for Cid, he made a detour into the bakery. It was very small and only one other customer was there, hesitating over loaves of bread. A teenage girl watched him warily from behind the counter as he browsed the display of delectables. A burly, bearded man kneaded dough in the back, too intently focused to acknowledge customers.

"Hey, darlin', what's fresh?"

"Umm, we've got blueberry donut holes, sir?" She seemed unreasonably nervous, and kept looking back at the man, as if willing him to come to her rescue.

"Gimme a half dozen of those."

"S-sure."

The girl bagged them up in a hurry, then pushed the paper bag all the way across the counter. She stepped away, not naming a price.

"Hey, how much?"

"Um, we don't, uh, charge your type?"

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

She flinched, stammered, but couldn't get anything else out. The other customer fled; the bell over the door jangled loudly. With the noise, the man kneading dough finally noticed something was up. He wiped his hands off on his apron, approaching the counter with a thunderous frown that, upon looking into Cid's eyes, faded into something that resembled a poor attempt at neutrality.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

"Yeah, y'all ain't told me how much." Cid folded his arms, feeling annoyed and confused.

"Sir, it's on the house for the Luz Vuelve."

"...Who?"

"Your eyes, sir, haven't you been exposed to Mako?"

"Oh, that. Yeah. Long story. What's it gotta do with anything?"

The man shook his head, as though disbelieving. "If you're not part of the Lights, then..." He looked around the bakery, made a shooing motion at the girl, and waited until she'd retreated into the kitchen. "...What are you, SOLDIER?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not with these Lights." Cid flapped his hand dismissively in front of his face, as if to dispel a bad smell. "The hell kinda group are they if they got ya givin' free goods out?"

"The kind that offers its protection. You'd better stay out of their way."

"Sure." With an exaggerated shrug, Cid dug his wallet out. "How much?"

"Five gil."

Cid left the bakery with a mouthful of decent blueberry sweets and a lot more questions than answers. He wandered down the street, finally going where Yuffie told him to. As his route was mostly residential, he didn't encounter many people. It seemed too weird to just go up to houses to knock and ask strangers prying questions. Cloud used to do it no problem, but that was because he was a weird kid.

Eventually, he ended up in the shopping district. As Cid idled along, window shopping, he began to notice a repeated motif throughout the district. Either a shop front would have a lit lantern glowing with yellow electric light despite the time of day, or it would have a window decal or graffiti somewhere depicting a lantern with three yellow beams of light emanating from the right side.

The buildings without were all closed, often with dusty "For lease" signs in the windows. At one of these, a crew of people bustled in and out, cleaning it up and making general repairs. A bumper sticker on the back of their white truck displayed the lantern icon again.

One of the crew, a rough-looking punk with colorful hair, shot Cid a narrow look when he lingered too long. Her eyes glowed in the shadows, and they widened a moment later, probably as she realized Cid's eyes glowed too.

He walked on, not too quick, and didn't look back. No one came chasing after him.

The longer Cid loitered in the shopping district, the more it seemed like people were watching him. The looks became more pointed, always searching his face--his eyes-- for answers he didn't have. At first, he thought he was just being paranoid, but then he caught a glimpse of tattooed hooligans watching him from the alleyway with gleams in their eyes that weren't purely metaphorical.

Unarmed and not in the mood to get tangled up in a gang war, Cid fell in with a larger crowd. As soon as it seemed like his followers might have lost interest, he started looking for somewhere to get lunch.

He ultimately decided on a food stand that served arepas. He got two piled high with heaps of beef, black beans, fried sweet plantains, and white cheese with sides of potato salad loaded with peas and carrots for himself and Vincent. Then he moved on, swinging by a smoothie bar to get drinks. Strawberry for Vincent, of course.

He left the shopping district without incident, but kept glancing back, expecting to find trouble on his tail.


	36. in front of me

The docks bustled with activity as one ferry made its departure and another immediately took its place. Cid dodged his way through the crowd with the experience that came of working most his life in and around airports. No one paid him any mind, probably thinking he was one of the passengers. That sort of assumption suited him just fine, he'd had enough of being eyeballed for one day.

As had Vincent, apparently, for he stood alone at the end of a fishing pier. Cid passed a number of would-be fishers who didn't seem to be catching much but were nonetheless noisy in their enthusiasm.

"Hey." He held the cardboard cup holder towards Vincent. "How'd it go?"

Vincent eyed the very pink smoothie for a long moment before taking it. He tried a tentative sip, then nodded, his gaze on the distant horizon. "This town has become quite taken with lamps, like that food cart..."

"Ya noticed, huh? People kept askin' if I was part of some group. And some chucklefucks followed me around..."

"If we attract too much attention, it might be better if we lay low."

"Sounds like an excuse to slack off, Vince."

"Yuffie can handle it."

Snickering, Cid jostled against Vincent's side. "C'mon, let's find somewhere that ain't so fish-smellin' to eat our lunch, yeah?"

"Hmm." Vincent took another sip of his smoothie, then lifted his metal gauntlet, pointing with a single claw. "They certainly take great care to ensure their beaches are clean..."

Peering out into the water, Cid noticed the distant shapes of breakwaters jutting from the waves. Normally, he wouldn't think much of it, but the typical stone construction was broken up every few feet by the gleam of metal. At each of those points, the currents flowed noticeably enough to stir up eddying white bubbles constantly. It looked like the water flowed through the metal parts.

"The hell is all that?" he asked.

"I assume filters for pollution." Vincent turned away from the water. Before Cid could ask how he knew about something like _that_ , Vincent added, "Our mutual friend once asked me to look after the crew that installed some. I was told they are largely for mako contamination."

"Huh. ...Guess we're gonna see some north of my hometown, huh?"

"No doubt."

“It's too damn bad they gotta go up,” Cid mused. “Ruins the waves.”

“For?” Vincent started walking back towards the shore, keeping a careful amount of distance from the fishers.

“Surfin’.”

“Ah… Of course you can surf. You were weirdly enthusiastic at Icicle Inn…”

“Damn right. Like ridin’ a bike, ‘cept someone dumped ice down my pants.” Cid made a stop at a recycling bin when they made it back to shore. He dumped the cup holder in, keeping his drink. “Don't think Cloud’s beat my score at Gold Saucer yet.”

"Is it you I have to thank for those ridiculous skyboards back then?"

"Oh, hah, nah. Yanno our friend, he loves Gold Saucer, so he figured it'd be easier trainin' folks if he used modified arcade games."

"Hmm... Do you mind a walk?"

"Nah-uh, lead on, starshine."

They set out north along a sidewalk, away from the docks and into a small residential area. The houses there all had huge yards, making it feel spread out and almost rural, if not for the fact that every house was an over the top mansion. Eventually even those properties gave away to open, grassy fields. Vincent left the sidewalk, veering out into the grass to wander along the hilltops above rockier, unkempt beaches. The breeze picked up, pleasant and cool, smelling only of sea salt and none of the stink of society.

"Here," Vincent said.

He pointed down a narrow, sandy track that wound its way down to a small beach. Said beach was well out beyond the breakwaters. It glittered strangely in the sunlight, as though covered in glass.

When they got down there, Cid saw that it wasn't glass, but crystals. He shifted the food bag and his drink to one hand and bent to pick a piece up. Though rough and jagged, it held a slight curve. A very faint glow shimmered at its center.

And the beach was covered in them, all the way out into the water. They washed up in thick clusters against the rocks on either side of the beach, gleaming and clinking.

"Shit, this is..."

"Scraps of materia."

"No wonder they need the fuckin' filters. Damn. Where's it all comin' from?"

Vincent stared out at the ocean, arms folded with the base of his smoothie cup propped against his metal elbow. "Perhaps our friends cannot find the source because it has been hidden in the dark below where none would think to look..."

"Well, I ain't got a submarine handy, you?"

If Vincent were wearing his cloak, he probably would have lifted it dramatically to show nothing beneath it. As it was, he spread his arms to show that he possessed nothing but the drink and a small handgun secured to his side. Cid elbowed him lightly, then stepped forward to fling the bit of crystal out into the water.

"Cleanin' this up is gonna be a bitch..."

"It should pose no threat to the planet."

"No?"

"Mm. The planet makes natural materia on its own. It is safe to assume that it can reabsorb it in time."

"Huh, maybe. Ain't my forte."

"It might be best not to linger, as we are not the planet."

Vincent wandered back inland, away from the glittering shards, and perched on a jutting piece of rock overlooking the beach. Cid jumped up to settle next to him, as close as he could get without climbing into Vincent's lap. He grinned cheekily at the narrow look he got, but didn't scoot away. The fact that Vincent didn't move away either suggested that his earlier moodiness had abated somewhat.

"I'm starvin'. Let's eat!"

Cid handed Vincent's food over, then dug into his own. The food was good, and he ate every bite. Vincent not so much, but it counted as a win that most, if not all of the bread and meat got picked through, a couple bites of the potato salad tried (sans peas, of course), and the smoothie totally demolished.

After, they leaned together, neither speaking. Cid felt drowsy and at ease, squinting sleepily in the warm sunlight with the glinting of the materia shards like too bright stars. He let his head droop to the side, resting his temple against Vincent's shoulder.

"Ya feelin' better?"

"As opposed to?"

"This mornin'."

"...Not particularly." Vincent hesitantly touched at Cid's knee, then pressed his hand down more firmly, as if to quell any fuss. With his metal claws, he tapped at his chest. "If I am to prove the sincerity of this promise, what choice do I have but to try to have faith in you?"

Cid laid his hand over Vincent's, threading their fingers. He gave a rough squeeze, then loosened his grip so that the other man could withdraw with ease. "We'll get through this." He grinned with more confidence than he felt. "Ya wanna talk 'bout it? The beast or whatever..."

"I'd rather not," Vincent admitted.

"Vince... Ya gotta tell me what's goin' on so I can help."

With a long sigh, Vincent tucked his chin. "I know."

“...So?”

Vincent gazed out at the horizon for long enough that Cid began to doubt that he'd get any kind of answer. He sat up from Vincent's shoulder and busied himself with a cigarette in the meantime, trying for some semblance of patience.

"...What do you want to know?"

"Iunno."

"Cid..."

"Ehh, seriously, Iunno where the fuck to start with this. I get it, ya don't like talkin' 'bout nothin'. Ya want me to just start blabbin' and ya can tell me if I'm hot or cold?"

Vincent peered at him, then dropped that red eyed gaze to the half-finished cigarette. Wordless, he held his golden claws out, twitching them slightly. Cid obliged, passing the smoke over.

After he'd had a pull of it, Vincent said, "Alright, fire away, Chief." He did not return the cigarette, instead choosing to finish it himself.

"Right, uh. So ya had shit done to ya. Mako? Jenova? Some other fuckin' shit?"

"All of the above."

"...and ya turn into freaky shit. Used to be four of 'em. That winged bugger was a WEAPON, right?"

"Yes. Chaos."

"What happened to the others?" Cid scratched at his stubbly cheek. "Seems like ya just got the beast now..."

"Perhaps they were never real."

"Bullshit, the rest of us fuckin' _saw_ 'em."

"No, I mean..." Vincent exhaled smoke, exasperated, and ducked his head, falling silent.

Cid reached out, plucking the smoldering butt from between Vincent's claws. He stubbed it out on the rock, then tucked it into the food bag with the rest of the trash.

"Wanna put a pin in this'n?"

With a shake of his head, Vincent sat up straighter, shifting around to face Cid more fully. "I cannot know the full extent of what Hojo did, but I think... the appearance of my transformations may have had something to do with..." His voice dropped as he shoved his hands up underneath his arms. "...my state of mind."

"Huh."

Cid frowned, considering that with a tilt of his head. He gazed skywards, watching fluffy white clouds drift by. His eyes followed one thick cluster's progress as it hurried to join others on the western horizon. It would rain in a day or two, unless the wind kept up and blew them towards Rocket Town.

"Guess that explains the movie monster bullshit."

"Probably," Vincent muttered.

"So, ya doin' any better since then, if ya keep turnin' into the beast every time?"

"I have... accepted certain things, after a fashion."

"Yeah." Cid nodded. "Think we've both done some head cleanin' these last few years."

"Not enough, plainly, if I continue to be a danger to others."

"Ehh... Shit ain't linear."

Stretching his arms up above his head, Cid cracked his spine. Then he laid back, tucking his hands behind his head. Vincent twisted his upper body around to peer at him, hands braced on the stone beside his hip.

"I wish I had your steady resolve, Chief."

"Then just lean on me, starshine," he said, smiling up at Vincent. "I ain't gonna be mad if the goin's slow."

"Hm. Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"Uh, right." Cid rocked his foot back and forth as he thought about the conundrum that was Vincent's nigh uncontrollable monster forms. "The beast ain't a separate entity. It's all instinct?"

"I used to believe it was separate," Vincent admitted. "Maybe it was denial that I could be so monstrous, even as I thought of myself as a monster..."

"Yeah, fuck that line of thought."

Cid kept one hand under his head, reaching out with the other to tug at Vincent's sleeve firmly. After a moment, the other man got the idea and shifted to lay down next to him.

"Would you think it terrible if I harbored monstrous instincts?"

"Depends. Ya gonna eat people?"

"No. Everyone but you tastes terrible."

That startled a whoop of laughter out of Cid. He rolled onto his side, throwing his arm over Vincent's middle. With a fond, if long-suffering sigh, Vincent shifted, moving his arm to let Cid pillow on it.

"Yeah, okay, lemme know what kinda instincts we're talkin' 'bout here and we'll play it by ear. Mebbe not repressin' all that shit'll help ya keep a clear head when ya change."

"Hmm. Maybe."

"Well, s'like this, ya been changin'-- or almost changin' whenever ya stressed, right?"

"Yes."

"So... if ya not so damn wound up, shouldn't ya only change when ya want to? And not totally lose it?"

"How do you propose to accomplish that, Highwind? Ordinary people would be totally relaxed on these outings to resort towns, yet here I am..." Vincent waved his metal arm vaguely over himself, as if to indicate everything wrong.

"Meh, so this resort shit ain't for ya. And we're on a job anyway." Cid spread his fingers out over Vincent's belly, stretching the muscles in his hand. Then he traced slow, idle patterns around the buttons above the other man's pants. "Said it before, but we really oughta go somewhere, just the two of us, after this is done, and hash out what needs unfuckin'."

"...So eloquent. What if you do not like what you discover in the process?"

Tilting his head back, Cid shot a narrow look at Vincent. "Valentine, if I've fallen head over heels for ya, despite all the shit we thrown at each other all these years, the fuck makes ya think there's anything _left_ to make me not want ya?"

"Incredible." Vincent closed his eyes, turning his own face away, but he also bent the arm Cid laid on, trailing fingers against a stubbly cheek. "Whatever did I do to deserve you, Chief?"

Cid squirmed up close enough that he could press a kiss against Vincent's chin. "Same to ya, starshine."

One red eye opened a bare sliver, studying Cid from beneath thick lashes. After a moment, Vincent tipped his face down, both eyes opened.

"...Do you know," he said, slow and thoughtful.

"What?"

"Your head is heavy."

"Oi, real damn romantic, callin' me out for havin' too many brains."

Cid rolled all the way onto Vincent, mindful not to jab any soft bits. Even so, the abrupt movement made the taller man exhale sharply, not quite an _oof,_ but close. When Cid tried to shift his weight off, onto his own knees instead, the weight of a metal arm settled against his back, pinning him down.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move."

"Then lemme the hell up."

"Is that what you want?" Vincent's grip loosened, but he didn't pull away entirely.

"If it ain't comfortable for ya too, what's the point?"

Vincent rolled his eyes, lids sliding shut. "I could be comfortable, Highwind, if you would get your legs off of my groin."

"Uh, sorry."

With some careful rearrangement of limbs, Cid ended up between Vincent's legs, belly to groin. He propped his chin on his folded arms, which lay over Vincent's chest. In turn, Vincent kept his metal arm lightly draped against Cid's back, claws turned aside. Absentmindedly, Vincent ran his real hand through short blond hair, gaze distant and relaxed.

As long as Cid didn't wiggle much, it was comfortable enough for dozing, which is what he found himself doing after a few minutes of being touched so gently.

“Reeve is going to have to hope Yuffie is working harder than we are,” Vincent said after a long while, his voice a pleasant vibration beneath Cid’s arms.

Cid snickered, squinting one eye open. “He’s fucked.”

“You have no faith in Yuffie.” Vincent tapped his thumb against Cid’s temple.

“Wanna make a bet, then?”

“I cannot imagine money holds much value for either of us, so what will the prize be?”

“Hm… How ‘bout a favor?”

“What _kind_ of favor?”

“Anything the loser consents to.”

“Alright. I assume your bet is that she slacks off as much, if not more so than us.”

“‘Zactly. Kinda funny that yer the one puttin’ faith in someone else.”

“Call it practice,” Vincent deadpanned.

Laughing, Cid closed his eyes. “Sure, starshine.”

“How long does Yuffie have to prove her worth?”

“Uhh, let's say until tomorrow night.”

“And will it be against the rules to tell her?”

“Uh, _yeah_ , ‘cuz if she knows, she’ll do whatever outta spite.”

“Then I’m afraid our game is already up.”

Cid’s eyes snapped open. A slim shadow of a girl fell over them; he followed the line of it to its owner and found Yuffie standing on the hill above them, mischief in her eyes and hands on her hips.

“And what are you two doing?”

“Takin’ our mandated afternoon nap for ol’ dudes, what’s it look like?”

“How come you're old only when it’s convenient for you?! And what was _that_ about proving my _worth_! I thought we were friends, Valentine!!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Vincent, cheeks puffed up.

“Contrary to how that sounded, I was defending your honor.”

“Likely story!” Yuffie jumped down and landed in a crouch next to them. “I should kick _both_ your butts… but this beach is pretty cool.”

The two men separated with no small amount of reluctance, sitting side by side and making more room for Yuffie on the rock. Cid rubbed at the back of his neck, slouching with his other elbow propped against his thigh. The press of weight against his side, long black hair tickling against his arm was a comfort. Vincent’s expression was blank except for a tightness around his eyes.

“Vince found it,” Cid offered. “And filters of some kind at those damn breakwaters.”

“Oh, huh.” The girl tipped her head to the side, cradling it between her hands. Her gaze roamed the beach, marveling at the crystals littering it. “That's weird.” She side eyed Cid. “What’d _you_ find?”

Vincent said, “The lanterns.”

“Yeah, people bein’ damn shifty about mako eyes and some group of hooligans called Luz Vuelve.”

Yuffie nodded. “That lines up with what I heard. They're hiring down at the Last Light Arcade."

"A pity the rules of our bet were broken too soon," Vincent said. "I believe this would have counted as a win for me."

"What the hell, I'll give ya the win anyway." Cid nudged his arm against Vincent's side, smiling.

"Hmm, if you're certain."

"You two are so dumb," Yuffie declared. "Did you hear me, I found a way in to find out if this group is our target!!"

"Yeah, yeah, we heard, congrats on bein' fuckin' brilliant."

"Why you-- wh-- wait." Yuffie blinked rapidly, mouth hanging open. "You think I'm _brilliant_?"

Cid huffed. "Don't act so damn surprised when I give praise where it's due."

"But you _never_ admit I'm any good at anything!"

Frowning, Cid worked his jaw side to side, trying to remember if he'd ever thrown the kid a bone before. Nothing in particular came to mind. A questioning look to Vincent proved unhelpful as the other man gave the slightest of one-armed shrugs, felt more than seen.

"Ah, damn. My bad. Sorry, kiddo."

"Gaia, you're turning _each other_ soft," Yuffie breathed. "How far gone are you two?!"

Cid grumbled, "Oh, fuck off."

"We should tell her."

Red eyes met blue. Cid shrugged, waving one hand in a _go on_ motion. Vincent looked away first, studying Yuffie, but did not jump to volunteering their secret yet.

"Tell me what?" The longer Vincent's silence went on, the more Yuffie fidgeted, looking between the two men. "C'mon, out with it, you jerks."

"Vince... Remember our deal here, I ain't gonna be the one tellin' her."

With a very soft sigh, Vincent hooked his fingers under his collar, catching the silver chain. He pulled it up, dragging the dog tags into view. They jangled in the ocean breeze, hanging there in plain sight. Yuffie stared at them without comprehension.

"Cid and I... are promised."

The girl's mouth fell open; her eyes went wide enough that it seemed like they might pop right out of her skull. She stayed that way for a good minute--long enough for Vincent to tuck the tags back under his shirt.

And then she wheezed, "Oh, my, god," and promptly lunged, throwing her arms around both their necks. "You dumb old idiots, it only took forever!!"

While Cid tugged at her arm to loosen her death grip enough that he could _breathe_ , Vincent patted awkwardly at her shoulder with the palm of his metal hand, keeping his claws peeled back away from tender flesh.

“I suppose it did,” Vincent murmured, glancing over the top of Yuffie’s head at Cid.

"Does anyone else know yet?" Yuffie asked, after she'd released them from her death grip.

Cid rubbed at the side of his neck. "Just Shera."

"What! The others should know. Do you want me to tell them?"

Already, she pulled her phone out, keying in her passcode to wake it up. She had the app for texting others open by the time Vincent laid his hand over the screen, preventing any further meddling. He didn't say anything, engaging in a silent stare off with her.

"...Nah," Cid finally said, poking at Vincent's side to break the staring contest. "We're gonna tell 'em later, if ya don't mind."

"When's the wedding? Ooh, what style are you going to have it in?" Yuffie reached up to flick at Vincent's long black hair. "Vincent, aren't you from Wutai?"

"...My mother was," he allowed, shifting back and away from any further poking and prodding from either side. "I know I made japes, but do we have to have a wedding, Highwind?"

"Nah-uh. We can see a judge. My aunt'll wanna see us the day of, though."

"That's _boring_ ," Yuffie pointed out. "What about all your friends who'll want to celebrate?"

Vincent and Cid exchanged a look. As one, they shrugged, then stood up, gathering their lunch trash. Yuffie spluttered, pinwheeling her arms at her side, and bounced up to smack them both on the arm.

"How can you both be so, so, so-- _blasé_ about this!"

"Ya kiddin'? This guy took a thirty year depression nap." Cid jerked his thumb towards Vincent, who blinked at him owlishly. "...And I'm all for bein' a lazy fuck, s'long as the work that's important gets done."

"Speaking of," Vincent said. "One of us should probably look into temporary employment..."

"What d'ya reckon their operatin' hours are?"

"Bad guys always stay up late." Yuffie folded her arms, cocking her hip to pose bravely and dramatically. "It's why they're so grumpy and always cause trouble!"

"Your logic needs a hell of a lotta work."

"Oh, shove it!" She blew a raspberry at him, hands settling on her hips. "Since you're the glowy eyed weirdo that would fit right in, and you're _probably_ to blame for Vincent's poor work ethic today, _you_ should be the one to try first."

"What the hell? Since when am I goddamn weirdo?"

"Glowing eyes _are_ unusual," Vincent said, distractedly, when Cid looked to him for reassurance. He flexed his claw gradually, staring at it.

“Ah, hell, c’mon, starshine, she didn’t mean it like it sounded.”

“What?” Yuffie said, perplexed, and then paid proper attention to how droopy and distant Vincent looked. “Oh! Sorry, Vin, you’re not a bad guy, I promise. It’s okay if you never sleep and if you’re grumpy!! C’mon, c’mon, let’s go get some ice cream…”

With that, she dragged the two of them back to town.


	37. if my armor breaks

After deterring Yuffie from bugging Vincent with the threat of cutesy ice cream trips, Cid headed out on his own.

The sky overhead was streaked with red and purple. Street lights came on, one by one. Despite the hour, the crowds of tourists weren't smaller, but they wore slightly more layers, since their destinations weren't the beach, but restaurants and clubs. Cid kept his head down and his hands in his pockets as he walked, avoiding unwanted attention.

The Last Light Arcade stood on a corner at the eastern side of the shopping district. Paper lanterns in a myriad of colors swung in the breeze above the large windows. More lights flickered from inside, but not nearly as bad as Cid expected. Even though he stood outside and across the street, Cid could hear the high pitched beeping and goofy sound effects of the game cabinets.

Yuffie and Vincent were supposed to be waiting somewhere nearby in case something went wrong. Cid didn't know how they'd manage to stay hidden. _"Ancient Wutai secret,"_ Yuffie said, when he asked, grinning cheekily. Even Vincent inclined his head, as though in on the joke. Cid insulted both their mothers before stealing Vincent's unfinished burger.

Cid felt naked going inside, since he'd left his dog tags, phone, and all forms of identification behind. The only thing in his pocket was a single card, loaded with ten thousand gil. A paltry sum, but more than enough for a loner to play a few rounds of their favorite game and maybe get a drink.

Though he expected nothing but young punks inside the arcade, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the ages ranged anywhere from kids still in school to older folks. No one gave Cid a second look as he made his way to the front counter.

"Whatcha need?" the dull-eyed woman behind the counter asked, chewing gum and scrolling through something on her phone.

"Where do I swap for tokens?"

She pointed without looking up, indicating a trio of crooked signs pointing down a narrow hallway. _Bathrooms,_ _Phones,_ and _Tokens,_ all in one dimly lit hall.

"Thanks," Cid muttered, and walked on.

Not only were there payphones and token machines, but vending machines too. The hall felt much narrower than it really was because they lined both walls. Cid paused at one of them, amused by the array of novelty drinks. He couldn't imagine anyone willingly drinking something called _Snotlava_. He seriously considered purchasing the one with a spiky cross on its front, the liquid inside as red as blood. Vincent's reaction would be priceless.

At the token machine, Cid swiped his card, spending a thousand gil for half that in tokens. He loaded them up into his pockets, then jangled his way back out onto the main floor to peruse the selection of games.

The Snow Game and Q Bike machines both boasted sizable crowds, as did the various rhythm games and most of the shooters. Cid meandered on, admiring the spunk of what looked like an eight year old girl winning at Sumo Wrestler at one of the higher difficulties. Her mother cheered her on in the background, fists pumping in the air.

A familiar tinny theme song caught Cid's attention, coming from the end of one row. He walked by clusters of teens hanging off of newer cabinets, passed older players vying for high scores on classics, and stopped in front of a game he hadn't played since he was a kid. Grinning, he thumbed tokens into the slot. At the game's prompting, he took up the controls, flying his little dragon across vertically scrolling landscapes, shooting down enemies to collect power ups. He found that he hadn't forgotten much about the game, despite the fact that he hadn't thought about it in _years_.

It didn't take long for him to garner a small crowd of curious onlookers, not when he blazed through the levels as fast as the game allowed. Nothing could touch his little dragon, which sprouted more heads and went through a multitude of color changes.

In the last stages, his dragon had so many heads that dodging the sheer number of enemies and missiles became a task requiring the utmost concentration. To his left, a girl with more muscles than Barret leaned on an unused cabinet, loudly telling a slimmer girl various facts about the game, like when it was made, and why the developers made this or that choice. The dragon took its first hit, and the second right after. His first death.

“Hey, ya wanna quiet yer fuckin’ mouth?” Cid asked, shooting a glare at the girl. “Some of us are tryin’ to play, here.”

“Excuse _me_ \--!” The big girl straightened, squaring her shoulders, but her smaller friend caught her on the arm with a murmur.

Both of the girls did a double take, staring into Cid’s eyes. He rolled them, turning back to the game, knowing all too well what assumption they’d just made. They didn’t leave or apologize, exactly, but they did simmer down. The others loitering around made a fast departure, maybe realizing that if he was some kind of thug from the local gang, they shouldn’t bother him.

Somewhere between the dark castle and the lava leading up to the final boss, the shorter of the girls left. She was back by the time the weird, alien boss appeared on a black backdrop, and she'd brought friends. At least three of them, their eyes glowing out of the corner of Cid's vision. He tried to stay focused on the game, since he couldn't hear what anybody was whispering over the sound effects.

Somehow, Cid managed to beat the boss with one health remaining. He did not get to enjoy the end credits declaring him a hero for defeating the evil wizard, nor did he get to enter his name into the #2 spot on the high scores list, as someone grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

"Hey, what the fuck?" he demanded, shrugging off the offending hand.

That hand belonged to a pale woman in too much makeup. "So it's true, you've had mako enhancements." She eyed him up and down, hands on her bony hips, lacquered nails tap-tap-tapping. "You ain't one of the lights, so who do you belong to?"

"Nobody."

Cid surveyed the five people penning him against the cabinet. The two girls that watched him play didn't look very threatening. They lacked the telltale glow of mako, but the smaller girl had a small tattoo of a winged creature holding up a lantern on her bared shoulder. Then there were the others--two men and the woman, their eyes glowing. They all had poorly concealed guns under their jackets.

The woman leaned close, the reek of her flowery perfume making his eyes water. "Then tell me, how did you get those high beams, handsome?"

"Went skinny dippin' in the lifestream."

That startled her into pulling back; one of the men smothered a laugh into his gloved fist. He did not-- or could not --stop even though she turned to glare at him.

"You must be very lucky indeed, to still be standing," she murmured. "I imagine people have made all sorts of insinuations about your person because of your eyes..."

Cid shrugged. "People are fuckin' stupid."

"If you get lonely, you should come play with us." She produced a business card from inside her jacket and held it out between forefinger and middle finger. "We always welcome another who can see through the light."

"Uh, sure." Cid took the card, looking at it. In tiny, black letters, it read, _Luz Vuelve,_ with a phone number beneath. "What happens if I don't join up?"

"If you're not causing trouble in our town, nothing at all," the man that'd been laughing said, with a toothy grin.

The woman patted at Cid's cheek. "So play nice."

Then they were gone, all five of them. Cid eyed the card again, then stuck it into his pocket and peeled himself off of the arcade cabinet. He could feel an indent on his lower back from how hard he'd been leaning away from that woman's stink. He rubbed at it, muttering curses under his breath.

It wasn't _exactly_ employment, but it was an in.

With no idea whether anyone might be watching or what counted as suspicious behavior, Cid decided to stick around until he ran out of tokens. He left his beloved dragon game behind, though it chafed to not claim the high score, and picked his way through various other cabinets, trying a game or two of any that looked interesting. He spent more than a few rounds of tokens on the old classic standby involving eating and mazes, though he wasn't very good at it.

Once he ran out of coins, he made a detour to the hallway to get the goofy novelty soda for Vincent. He paused, eyeing the pay phone, but he wanted to see his friends before he called up the local gang for tea.

Cid left the arcade with one hand in his pocket and the other hanging loose at his side, gripping the bottled soda by the neck. It surprised him not at all to spot glowing eyes in the small late evening crowd, and it didn't even garner a weak swear when some of them started following him. They might have told him to _”play nice,”_ but that didn't meant they wouldn't be watching him. Cid feigned ignorance, sauntering along as if he noticed nothing.

A sizable crowd of families converged ahead of him, spilling out from restaurants and shops. He fell in with them as if he belonged. The minute no one was looking, he shed his gaudy button-up shirt, dumping it into a trash bin, and snagged a cap from a concession stand to hide his blond hair. By the time he left the shopping district, he'd lost his unwanted fan club. He wandered alone back towards the hotel and hoped he hadn't also lost Vincent and Yuffie.

His worry proved unfounded. One minute he walked alone, the next, Vincent strode beside him as if materializing out of his shadow. Yuffie clattered far more noisily off the roof, hopping down to gracelessly fall into step on Cid's other side.

“Jeez, making our job harder with that disappearing act,” she said, folding her arms behind her head.

Cid snorted. “Ain’t as good as ya thought ya were, huh?”

“I didn’t say that! We’re so awesome you couldn’t lose us despite your best attempt!”

With a roll of his eyes, Cid held the bottled soda out to Vincent. He grinned cheekily at the narrow-eyed look he got, and felt genuine pleasure when Vincent accepted it with a murmured, “Thanks.”

"Is that all you got?" Yuffie asked, tone verging on offended incredulity.

"Hell no."

With a scoff, Cid produced the card. He held it up out of Yuffie's reach, jerking it up higher when she jumped for it. She smacked her hand flat against his side, huffing something in Wutaiian that wasn't likely to be praise. It stung only a little, but he clutched at it, doubling over in feigned agony, letting out a wheezy bark of laughter. Yuffie looked alarmed, like she genuinely feared that she hurt him.

Vincent reached over to pluck the card from Cid's hand, inspecting it coolly, as if totally unbothered by their foolishness. "Hm. A phone number but no address."

"What do you think will happen if we call it?"

"Prolly send a fuckin' hit out if they find I ain't alone," Cid muttered, straightening as he rubbed his side vigorously. "Figured I'd find a pay phone after I checked in with y'all."

Vincent gave the card back, staring off into the distance pensively. Cid tucked it into his back pocket, then hooked his arm through Vincent's, pulling him into a nearby alley way. Yuffie hesitated out on the sidewalk, and when Cid waved her off impatiently, she stuck her tongue out and stalked out of sight.

"What is it?"

As he spoke, Vincent frowned down at their shoes, but the alleyway was no dirtier than the street. He lifted his gaze, apparently somewhat mollified that they weren't splashing through garbage water.

Cid snorted, amused, and then pulled him down to press their foreheads together. "Nothin' much, just dunno where the fuck this is gonna go."

"Sounds a little too like farewell, Chief..."

"Nah-uh," Cid denied. "Givin' myself somethin' nice to think 'bout in case the goin' gets rough."

"Ah, is that so?"

"Yep."

"I don't consider an alley the ideal setting for such sentimentality."

"Oh, shut up."

Cid could feel the curve of a faint smile against his lips when he kissed Vincent. In retaliation, he nipped at the other man's lips, which Vincent must have found agreeable enough to allow the kiss to deepen. One kiss didn’t seem enough, nor did two. And he certainly had no protests when Vincent moved down to his neck, though he struggled not to make too much noise.

They may have taken longer than Cid meant to, lost in each other--or Yuffie was just impatient. Either way, she called out, "Hey, are you two done yet? We got bad guys to take care of!"

Vincent let out a long, hot exhale against Cid's neck, sending shivery sparks across his damp skin. Then he pulled away, brushing his hand down his front as if smoothing away the wrinkles in his shirt could do away with all evidence that they'd been necking in an alley. Cid scuffed the heel of his boots in the dirt, tugging at his own shirt collar. His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears, urging him to put the job off longer.

Instead, he coughed into his fist, trying and failing for a steady voice. "Yeah," he croaked, "Let's get 'er done."

"Ugh, you two," Yuffie muttered, when they came back out. She didn't sound genuinely mad, just a little embarrassed, not quite looking at them. "We should decide what you're going to take with. A spear might be too noticeable."

"The hell are my options?"

"Um, I bet you can't use throwing knives..."

"Could prolly brain any dumb fuck that sits still long enough."

She snickered at that, but shook her head. "What about a gun, Vinny?"

"I have spares," Vincent said, eyeing Cid up and down almost suspiciously.

"What, I can use guns. _And_ I can do it without fuckin' 'em up, so quit lookin' at me like I'm gonna murder your baby."

"Hmm..."

"I don't know, do you wanna take that risk?" Yuffie asked, tilting her head at Vincent.

Cid flipped them both off. It did not have the desired effect.

Yuffie laughed while Vincent glanced away, watching people across the street as they meandered by, absorbed in their own conversations. He waited until they were far enough away before speaking. "I will need to retrieve an appropriate weapon for you, Chief."

"Sure. Bring my smokes."

"And materia, presumably," Vincent deadpanned, eyes squinty.

Yuffie pointed back the way they'd come from. "There's a payphone at the corner."

"Alright."

Just like that, Vincent was gone, slipping into the alley. His footsteps abruptly cut off, like he'd left the plane of reality altogether. Cid always hated that little trick, figuring it had to do with quantum physics or some fucky magic shit and never quite able to trust that a mere human being wouldn't get some minor detail wrong and just... cease to be.

Yuffie elbowed him, jostling him down the street towards the payphone. "I'm gonna go stealthy, in case anyone's watching the booth, okay? I won't be far."

"Sure, kiddo, I ain't need handholdin'."

"You wouldn't object if it was Vinny," she said, knowingly, and then sprang away to the alley.

He muttered a few choice swear words, listening to her less than quiet climb up the side of the building and finding it comforting. No one else would look up if he didn't draw attention to it, so he pointedly kept his head down as he approached the phone booth. Someone was already in it, trapped in a one-sided conversation that seemed to not require any input but an endless litany of, "Uh-huh," "Yeah," and "Okay."

Cid moved a respectful distance away, leaning against the nearby storefront, right next to the sheltered doorstep. That proved to be the correct thing to do, as a few minutes later, Vincent filled the shadows.

"Chief," he breathed against Cid's ear.

For once, Cid managed to repress his startle reflex fairly well, biting back the urge to shout. The person in the phone booth didn't react, anyway.

Without turning, Cid scooted over, keeping his hands behind his back. The weight of a gun in a shoulder holster filled his hands. He pulled it on as quickly as he could, fumbling a little on finding it tight. A sharp tug from Vincent at the strap going across his shoulders helped loosen it.

Next came his denim jacket, its pockets weighed down with an extra magazine and his lighter and cigarettes.

"Thanks, starshine," Cid whispered, grinning as he pulled the jacket on.

"Try not to die."

Vincent disappeared right as the person finished their call and came out of the booth. They rubbed at the back of their head, muttered an apology, and walked off in a hurry. Cid looked up and down the street to make sure no one else was around, then looked under his jacket at the gun. It was one of Vincent's smaller handguns, with two materia slots, currently filled with fire and cure.

Satisfied, Cid helped himself to a cigarette and stepped into the booth. After he'd lit up and inhaled, he lifted the receiver, resting it against his shoulder. To the droning hum of a mechanical operator telling him to pay, he fished his prepaid card out and swiped it through the slot. He fumbled for the business card next, while the machine processed the card. When the operator told him to, he punched in the number, then smoked through three and a half rings on the other end.

A man answered, over a noisy backdrop of a staticky broadcast of a boxing match and the shouting of companions getting worked up over it. "State your business."

"Sure as hell ain't pizza delivery," Cid blurted, and in the following stunned silence, thumped the heel of his palm against his temple.

The man rallied after a minute or so. "Where did you get this number?"

"Arcade. How fuckin' hard up are y'all to be recruitin' washed up fucks that ain't any good at games released after '85?" He just couldn't seem to help but run his mouth, nerves buzzing under his skin, irritating and demanding to be blown out between his teeth with words and smoke alike.

"You got a lot of attitude," the voice on the line said, sounding far less tense and even faintly amused. "Who tapped you in?"

"Dunno, she didn't gimme her name. Sign me the fuck up if it means joinin' that cougar's harem though, lemme tell ya."

That got an outright laugh, soon muffled by fingers. Cid could make out questioning voices in the background, then a conversation he couldn't make out. It took him a second to realize they spoke a language he didn't know. He waited, smoking the last of his cigarette, and watched the street outside the phone booth.

"Yeah, alright," the man said. "You don't want to get too tangled in Serafina, trust me. Where you at?"

Cid looked at the top of the phone, where the address was printed in raised lettering. "301 Tamarind."

"Stay put, the lights will find you."

The line went dead.

Cid dropped the receiver onto the hook, stubbed his cigarette out and dumped it in the ashtray, and exited the booth. The street was empty and he felt exposed, standing there in the dim yellow light spilling out of the booth. He knew, logically, that the only people watching him were ones he trusted, but that didn't stop the prickly crawl of unease raising goosebumps on his arms. He settled against the wall again, hands jammed in his pockets, and waited.

They came for him not long after, eyes like cold pinpricks of fire in the dark. Six of them, two men and four women, all of them wearing casual clothes like denim and cotton, all of them armed with bats and knuckles and chains.

"Already lit up, huh, smart mouth?" the man from the call asked, grinning. A single silver fang gleamed on the right side of his mouth, matching the hoop in his left ear. "Come on then, let's get this party on the road."

Cid shrugged and fell in with them, ringed on all sides as they walked down the street, like they thought he'd run off after going through all the trouble of getting an in.

"Dude don't look worth bothering with," one of the women said, high and snotty.

"Looks old," another added.

One leaned up into his space, smelling strongly of the spearmint gum she chewed. "You isn't SOLDIER, is you, old boy?"

"Hell no."

"Bet you worked for ShinRa," the second man opined. "They used to shoot everybody up with shit back in the day."

"Ain't get it from fuckin' ShinRa," Cid snapped.

The man from the phone hummed, thoughtful, taking a left turn that took them down to the boardwalk overlooking the beach. "That's real interesting."

The others tittered, and the conversation died down until they left the boardwalk behind and trudged across the sand. Then it mostly became low complaints about sand getting in shoes, about it being too chilly to enjoy the beach, and even about how little they wanted to be out there on account of some no-name newbie. Cid tuned most of it out, watching the phone man's back, since he seemed to be the leader of the posse.

They eventually came to a stop near the end of the beach, where sharp rocks rose up. Several pairs of hands pushed Cid forward so that he was trapped between the rocks and the group.

"You wanna join the lights, you gotta survive in a fight with five of us for three minutes. No weapons."

"No weapons for me or you?" Cid asked.

The grin he got in reply was not reassuring.

All but the pale-haired woman who hadn't spoken once came at him. She stood back, arms folded, and watched with uncanny golden eyes. Cid's estimate on who led the group shifted, but he didn't have any time to ponder it.

Unintentionally, the group put themselves at a disadvantage by cornering him like they had. They couldn't all use their weapons at the same time, and were forced to attack in ones and twos or else risk friendly fire.

One woman swung her chain over her head, making the others duck. Cid twisted out of the way, shoving another woman into it. He used the following confusion to wrench the bat out of the second woman's hands, kicking her in the knees to send her sprawling.

Then he jumped, avoiding a low kick, and brought the bat down onto a hand that swung a knife at him. The owner yelped, lost his grip, and went scrambling for it in the sand.

He lost track of who had what weapon and where after that, reduced to brawling wildly and on instinct alone, like he'd once done in his youth. Hits came from all sides, punches and kicks and worse that made him stagger but didn't bring him down. The gang knew the roughshod scuffling of the streets, but he was a trained military man that had survived Wutai and everything that followed.

By the time three minutes were up, Cid stood in the midst of a heap of groaning bodies, their weapons scattered and their pride shattered. He was black and blue and bloodied and triumphant.

Golden eyes appraised him, silent, then the woman inclined her head. She lifted her hand, crooked her fingers, and turned away, leading him from the beach. He limped along, hefting the bat against his shoulder. Her goons had no choice but to pick themselves up and limp after.

Their destination was the lighthouse, the biggest lantern in all of Costa del Sol. In hindsight, Cid supposed he should have expected it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The arcade game Cid is playing is based on a real game-- Dragon Spirit, on the NES.


	38. fuse it back together

The lighthouse had heavy double doors, sealed shut by a keypad. The woman crowded close to the pad, preventing Cid from seeing the numbers she punched in. The doors hissed open, swinging outward to reveal a perfectly ordinary room, with a spiral staircase leading up to the higher floors.

Or, it would be ordinary, if not for the trio of armed goons playing cards at a fold out table beneath the staircase. A radio blasted from a nearby shelf, playing the baseball game in Edge. The guards regarded the new arrivals with wary interest before going back to their game.

The woman walked over to the wall beneath the shelf, pushing at one of the bricks. The wall slid away, revealing a computer console with an eye scanner. As she went through the security, Cid hung back with the rest of the group near the doors, which had shut themselves, tapping the bat idly against his shoulder. He was glad he did a minute later, as the center of the floor opened up and a round glass elevator rose from below.

Their round of cards finished, one of the guards stood from the table and came over to the group with an empty plastic box.

"Weapons," he said, thrusting the box out.

One by one, everyone dumped their things into the box. All but Cid, who tightened his grip on the bat. He and the guard stared one another down.

The golden-eyed woman strode over, touching at the guard's shoulder with the barest tip of her fingers. She shook her head sharply. With a grunt and a shrug, the guard went back to the table, dropping the box of weapons nearby with more noise than strictly necessary.

"Thanks," Cid muttered.

The woman inclined her head, motioning for him to follow. Just the two of them got onto the elevator, leaving the others behind. The door slid shut, clicking as it locked, and then the elevator began its slow descent. The ride down was smooth but for the faintest vibration.

The further down the elevator went, the less certain Cid was of the decision to come alone and the more certain he was that the Luz Vuelve were no ordinary thugs.

"So, uh, ya ain't much a talker or what?"

The woman made a fist and brought it against her mouth, palm first. At his blank stare, she rolled her eyes up, the corners of her mouth curling. She repeated the gesture, then tapped pointedly at her throat.

Comprehension dawned on him belatedly. "...Ah, fuck, sorry."

With a slight shake of her head, she made two okay signs, wagging them up near her shoulders. Cid had no idea what it meant and wished he’d paid more attention to the signing lessons Shera made the office take back when they’d worked with a deaf engineer to design a boat engine that could use alternative fuel. It’d just been easier back then to exchange texts laden with emojis and expletives.

The elevator came to a stop a moment later, opening up to a cold concrete hall with exposed pipes and wires running along the walls near the ceiling. The fluorescent lights made everything seem washed out, and they made a faint buzzing noise that set Cid's teeth on edge.

He followed the woman down the hall, which ran straight for about twenty feet before it split off into three. She continued straight on. Huge metal doors with a security booth to the left barred their way. The two guards inside the booth were watching a small, tinny tv. Cid thought he recognized the sitcom on the screen, but couldn't place the name or what it was about. It probably didn't matter, it was just one of those stupid things his brain fixated on while one of the guards hit a green button, opening the doors for them.

On the other side was a huge rectangular room, of the kind that might be found in a prison block. The bottom floor connected to a cafeteria, still open despite the hour, and a number of closed doors. Metal stairs led up to two upper floors with walkways spanning the gaps. Cid couldn't quite make out what was up on the higher floors, but he would be willing to bet money that there were cells, maybe converted for other purposes.

The bottom floor seemed to be a common room of sorts. People lounged around on mismatched furniture, relaxing. Some clustered around a dartboard, others watched the game on a huge television secured to one wall. Still others played card and board games at metal tables, or read books, or just generally hung around minding their own business.

And they all had glowing eyes. Lots of them had tattoos or bright hair. Most of them were young, likely fallen in with the wrong crowd early.

The silent woman waved her hand in front of Cid's face to get his attention and then led on towards one of the closed doors at the far side of the room. More than a few of the people they passed gave Cid lingering looks, either cautious or curious or both. Cid kept his chin up, glaring straight ahead, and sauntered for all he was worth.

The other side of the door revealed yet more bare concrete walls. As they walked, Cid followed the line of exposed wiring with his eyes. He supposed making things look nice wasn't high on the priority list of a bunch of evil chucklefucks, but what really got him was how much of a security issue it was. It wouldn't take much for someone to do some serious damage.

The hallway branched left and right; the woman went left, to open up a small metal door. She held it open for him, and on the other side someone had made an attempt to make the cold grey concrete homey. Finely woven rugs covered the floor, heavy tapestries hung on the walls, and lavish furniture filled the empty spaces. Someone had a hell of a lot of money to throw around.

That someone was a thickset pale man with dark, curly hair sitting behind a desk, poring over schematics and papers. Or maybe it was multiple someones, since a thinner man with nearly identical features sprawled in a nearby armchair, tossing a tennis ball up and down. They both had green eyes, glowing lantern bright, but nowhere near as eerie as the eyes of ones stuck full of Jenova.

The latter snatched his ball from the air and sat up on seeing them, grinning. "Guadalupe! You brought another stray?"

The woman--Guadalupe--made a fist and bobbed it, like nodding with her hand instead of her head. What followed were a series of quick signs, too fast for Cid to even begin to follow. The man with the ball signed right back, enthusiastic.

Meanwhile, the big one behind the desk leveled Cid with an unimpressed, sullen stare. Cid jutted his chin, unwilling to be cowed.

"So!" The skinny man bounced up and over, stuck his hand out for a handshake. "I'm Lorenzo. Don't mind my brother, Luciano. You've met our dear Guadalupe. And you are--?"

"...Mitchell." Cid shook the hand offered, unfazed by the strong grip.

"I hear you beat some of our regulars to a pulp." Lorenzo tipped a wink, wandering off towards the minibar in the far corner. "Tsk, tsk, not off to a good start with making friends..."

"Just doin' what needed done."

Luciano gave a loud snort, gathering up all the papers and things on his desk to lock them away in the desk's drawers. An ugly grin crept onto his face. "Those useless sacks of meat needed tenderizing."

While Guadalupe signed something, looking indignant, Lorenzo laughed, pouring out drinks. Cid already didn't like either brother and ached to bash their skulls in. They had all the makings of power hungry maniacs eager to destroy the world for no other reason than because they could. He did his level best to keep his expression neutral.

His estimation of them did not rise when Lorenzo came away from the bar with only two drinks--one for himself and one for Luciano. Not that Cid honestly wanted to get drunk in the belly of an enemy stronghold, but it was damn rude. Guadalupe shot a vaguely apologetic look at him, shrugging her shoulders very slightly, as if she knew what he was thinking. He thumbed his nose, swallowing down the curses, if only because the two numbskull brothers were looking like the head honchos.

After drinking about half of his whiskey in one shot, Luciano grumbled, "What are you good for?"

Cid blinked. "'Scuse me?"

"Aside from pummeling the street rats, do you have any skills?" Lorenzo clarified.

Although the urge to brag about his prowess with anything that could fly, not to mention a number of things that didn't, was pretty strong, Cid settled on downplaying himself. "Eh, I'm an okay handyman. Can fix just about anything with a motor."

"Hmm... You're not a local, so let me ask you this." Lorenzo gestured broadly, sloshing his drink as he did so. "How familiar are you with our little operation?"

"I ain't know shit 'bout nothin' 'cept some ol' hag offered me a job and then some punks came to get their asses whupped."

"You got any family?" Luciano asked.

"Ain't everybody?"

The narrowing of the big man's eyes suggested his cheeky response wasn't appreciated. Cid shrugged. He wasn't about to tell a couple of gang leaders about his aunt nor about Vincent and the others. Guadalupe flapped her hands, as if to wave the topic off, and the brothers let it go, downing their drinks.

"Okay, I say we give him a shot." Lorenzo set his empty glass down on the corner of the desk and went back to tossing his ball up and down. "We need more people that know how to use a blowtorch without scorching their eyebrows off."

"Whatever," Luciano said. "Send him down."

"Okay, it's decided! Off you go."

"Hey, are y'all gonna _pay_ me?"

"You are on trial basis, pal," Lorenzo said, cheerily. "Prove your worth and earn your wealth."

Guadalupe touched at Cid's elbow, smiling, and led him back out of the office. Behind them, the doors swung shut, muffling the rising voices of the brothers beginning to argue.

Cid scratched the side of his neck, keeping his eyes on Guadalupe's narrow back as they navigated the corridors back to the common room. As before, people watched them pass. More than a few waved or called out to Guadalupe; she smiled at them but did not slow.

They passed through a door on the opposite side of the common room, which led to a hallway that gently slanted downwards. The air became thick and damp. The floor and walls vibrated faintly, like they were back in the elevator again. A discordant hum set Cid's teeth on edge. Ahead of them, a familiar sickly green glow pulsed.

He couldn't stop himself from muttering, "Ah, hell," when the concrete gave away to sealed doors and glass.

Guadalupe spun the valves on the doors with ease, letting them into the glass tunnel. The ocean pressed down on all sides, vast and dark. Dead coral and barren rock made for a poor view outside. Not a single fish drifted by, but the water churned with bubbles. Heat, Cid guessed, as they neared the glow of the reactor and he began to sweat from how warm the temperature became.

After another fifty or so yards, the tunnel widened out, becoming a massive dome. The reactor sat in the middle of it, reached by metal walkways that went over the dizzying drop. It, like the one seen in the photographs of Gongaga, looked to be built almost entirely of scrap metal. In fact, the entire dome looked patched together, with bubbly, warped glass and mismatched metal cobbled together.

Guadalupe stopped at the beginning of one of the walkways, hands braced against the railings, and peered down, down, down into the glow of mako not yet harvested. Her face shone with wild emotion, fear or glee or both all at once.

Cid felt sick. He dragged his hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, and told himself he wasn't hearing the voice of the planet beneath the thrum of machinery. But he did feel like _something_ spoke to him, filling the back of his head with a need to do something, anything, before the situation spiraled out of control.

A gentle touch against his elbow startled him. He snapped his eyes open to find Guadalupe watching him, head tilted, concern evident on her face.

"Sorry, pressure's gettin' to me or somethin'. Just needed a sec."

She nodded in understanding, spreading her hands expansively. Then she pointed, not towards the reactor itself, but to the walkway ringing it. Other people worked on the far side, sparks flying as they made repairs. Cid let his gaze roam upwards, noting the spray of water along one metallic support between curved glass.

"No wonder it's fuckin' humid in here, huh?"

And no wonder they needed people that knew how to fix shit. It was a horrible kind of miracle that they'd managed to get anything together at all.

Guadalupe walked on, towards the workers, and Cid followed. As they came closer, he heard the expected amount of shouting and swearing over the buzz of machinery, hiss of blowtorches, and clanging of metal on metal. If not for the fact that the bastards were all guilty of sucking the planet dry, Cid would have felt in his element. Instead, he felt off balance and numb as he watched Guadalupe wave her arms to get the attention of a burly woman in a grease-stained jumpsuit up on the scaffolding.

The woman jumped down, landing heavily, and stared intently at Guadalupe's hands with bronze eyes that glinted like coins in the sun. When Guadalupe finished, the woman nodded sharply with a grunt, turning her gaze on Cid. Guadalupe patted his elbow one more time, then left him there.

"C'mon, newbie, time to do some real work," the big woman said.

Cid thumbed his nose, scoffing, but let himself be pushed along. As much as he wanted to trot his credentials out and swear until he was blue in the face, it only invited trouble.

He left his jacket and weapons in a heap beneath the scaffolding, then clambered up and followed brusque instructions to weld metal plates over rusting, leaky gaps in the dome's support frame. Once she saw he wasn't a total buffoon, the woman nodded, satisfied, and left him to it.

Hours of mind numbing work later, the woman barked out, "Shift change!"

The crew put down their tools, collected their things, and trooped off towards the common room. More people came to replace them, taking up the fruitless labor of keeping shoddy construction standing.

The big woman slapped Cid on the shoulder. "C'mon." She walked with him back to the common room, hands shoved deep in her pockets. "I'm Mandy."

"Mitchell."

"Good to know ya."

"Same."

Most of the workforce piled into the cafeteria for hot, greasy food, including the two of them. Cid wasn't hungry, but he got a scalding cup of crappy tea and some crunchy toast anyway, just for the excuse to sit with Mandy and her crew. Like any group of blue-collar workers off duty, the gossip flew fast and loose.

"New guy, huh? Where ya from?" one guy asked, the only one to pay Cid any mind.

"Junon."

"Yeah? Not a bad town, if you ain't stuck downstairs."

Cid nodded, dumping generous amounts of sugar and honey into his tea with the vague hope of salvaging it. Mandy cast amused glances at him with a faint shake of her head that said she'd tried and failed the same.

Nearby, a group of about four people argued over the game. Which game, Cid had no idea, and it probably didn't matter. A morose woman lamented that it was only a matter of time before the dome collapsed, and they'd have a hard time finding another viable well. Her companions elbowed her, chastising her lack of faith in the Luz Vuelve. Younger fellows waxed poetic about the beauties on the beaches above.

An old, gnarled stump of a man leaned towards Mandy. "Anyone seen Levinia?"

"Nope."

"Goin' on three months now."

"Yep."

"Them brothers'll run us inna the ground," the old guy muttered darkly.

"Cut it out."

Cid tore his toast into bite-sized chunks, thinking of deadly gold claws doing the same with finicky fussiness at every single meal. "Anyone wanna let the new guy in on who's who?" he wondered, tone as indifferent as he could manage. If he was successful, it was only because he figured that at the end of the day, it didn't _matter_ who was who, as long as they all got their faces kicked in.

"Levinia's our glorious leader," the old guy answered. "Or was, 'til them brothers foun--"

"Hush now," Mandy said. "Levinia'll be back. She just takes... vacations."

The old guy scoffed, picking at his mashed potatoes. "Sure, if'n that's whatcha wanna call it."

"I do. Let it drop."

"Well, thanks for satisfyin' my curiosity." Cid popped a piece of toast into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "They ain't told me nothin' 'bout what trial work entails. Am I free to go, or what?"

"You're stayin' down here for three days. If they decide to keep you on, fine. If not..." Mandy shrugged a shoulder.

She did not elaborate on what kind of horrible death the Luz Vuelve kept in reserve. She didn't have to.

"Fuck."

"Anyone gonna be lookin' fer ya, youngster?" the old guy wondered, mako blue eyes too keen by far.

"Got a cat," Cid lied.

"Puss gonna go _hungry_."

"...Guess so."

Thinking of the slow, satisfied squint of red eyes, Cid chewed at another piece of toast. Vincent probably _would_ go hungry without anyone there to bully him into eating. Unless Yuffie decided to take care of it. She might, come to think. She liked Vincent a whole hell of a lot.

"Where'm I sleepin'?"

"Cells upstairs," Mandy said. "Find one that's empty. Next shift's at 0800."

"Thanks."

Cid abandoned his shitty tea and his nasty ass toast, grabbing his newly acquired bat, and headed to the upper levels of the common room. As expected, the place _was_ like a prison converted to living quarters. Jail bars had been replaced by concrete walls and wooden doors.

On the first floor, all of the cells were occupied. He found an empty one on the second floor, all the way in the back. A folded stack of starched bedding sat on the bare bed. A draft blew in from who the hell knew where, making the room needlessly chilly. Cid propped the bat in the corner by the bed, then made it. He kicked his boots underneath and climbed in, clothes and all.

He lay there wondering how to get word out to Vincent and Yuffie until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.


	39. don't give up on me

The morning brought Cid no closer to the conundrum of how to contact his friends. Instead, it brought a greasy breakfast that stuck to his ribs, more terrible tea with a sour aftertaste, and Mandy's silent company. She wasn't much of a morning person, staring blankly through her breakfast plate as if it had personally kicked her out of bed. That suited Cid fine, socializing before 1000 was for the fucking birds.

After the meal, Mandy socked him in the shoulder, as if she needed to make him pay attention as she stomped out of the common room. Grumbling curses under his breath, he followed, rubbing at his shoulder until the smarting eased. He half expected to have a blowtorch shoved in his hands again.

Instead, Mandy marched across the walkway over the glowing mako reservoir to the reactor itself. Cid hesitated before following, gritting his teeth as if it could prevent the deep thrumming of the machinery from rattling his bones. As if it could quiet that phantom howl of the planet or his desperate need to do something about it.

The inside of the reactor almost but not quite followed the typical design of the modern Midgar reactors. Mandy used grimy ID cards to let them through a number of sealed doors, passing the eggheads sitting at computer consoles monitoring the reactor's output levels. Cid unconsciously slowed down, taking in as much detail as he could. Already, he could tell breaking into the place would be the younger AVALANCHE members' forte. For him, it'd be easier to collapse the dome outside and let the whole thing go up in steam. Either way, the planet would need time to heal. Again.

Mandy got on an elevator on the far side of the room and impatiently tapped her foot while holding the door until Cid joined her. The elevator ride down to the core of the reactor seemed impossibly long. Mandy never said a word. She just glared up at the digital display showing how many feet they had left to reach the bottom. Cid longed for a cigarette, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

The bottom floor wasn't really the bottom. The Luz Vuelve had installed a guard station right outside the elevators. He and Mandy had to go through a thorough check of their persons, relinquishing weapons and anything else deemed non-essential for the duration of their visit. That meant Cid lost his jacket, the borrowed gun and holster, and the contents of his pockets. Mandy shed her coveralls, revealing jeans and shirt beneath, and then turned out her pockets, revealing that she was a woman of practicality--she had gum, a wrench, a screwdriver, and a pocket knife. The guards took her ID cards too.

Finally, they were allowed to descend one last flight of stairs, entering into the materia processing zone. Long conveyor belts rolled out freshly minted materia, with people in protective gear lined up to sort through it. Unusable chunks got dumped in waste bins. The rest rolled on to be polished down into the familiar orbs. Clearly, the Luz Vuelve didn't care that most of the world was beginning to move away from materia use.

Mandy gave the operation a once over, then continued on. They passed through another guard station on the west side of the room, and were let out into a long dark hallway. The thrumming deepened. Cid felt like he might shake right out of his skin. His brain seemed to knock against the insides of his skull, with pain blossoming sharply.

At the end of the hallway, behind one last door, the core of the reactor pulsed and glowed and radiated pure energy. The lifestream bubbled and thrashed a mere fifteen feet below a narrow metal walkway, held back by counteracting forces of electricity and materia. Doors to the left and right gave access to workstations overlooking the core. People worked in tense silence at consoles, gazing through the tinted glass windows as if they expected the whole thing to implode at any moment.

"Nobody really knows reactor tech anymore," Mandy said, raising her voice to be heard. "But we're learning."

"Yeah?"

She stood at the beginning of the walkway, her arms folded, watching him. "I don't expect you to understand anything we do today. Just do exactly what I tell you."

"Sure fuckin' thing, boss lady. Ain't in the mood to get my ass fried."

With a grin that wasn't pretty, she turned away and crossed the walkway. The access panel for the core was an ugly hunk of metal covered in valves and display panels, none of them digital. It was bigger than anything Cid ever saw in a ShinRa reactor, though. Mandy went to the side to reveal a _door_ , which she entered, leaving him no choice but to follow. More machinery inside was to be expected, but the ladder leading down was a shock.

"What the fuck?"

"Don't dither, newbie."

Mandy climbed down, as if the risk of burning to a crisp from the increased temperatures or exposure to mako radiation weren't of any concern of hers. Cid let out a stream of curses and didn't climb down until she'd reached the bottom and shouted back up at him.

The bottom widened out, ringed on all sides by pipes filled with mako. Pumping machines chugged away, steaming and grinding. Instantly, Cid could tell something was wrong with at least one, if not multiple.

Cid's attention strayed to a cluster of glass tubes nestled amongst the pipes, caught in horrified fascination. There were people suspended in mako, blissfully unaware as it irrevocably changed them. A man with long, greasy hair sat hunched in a chair nearby, fiddling with a tablet. He glanced at over at Cid, disinterested, and went right back to whatever he was doing.

"What's--?"

"High priority mako injections, for the ones that are sick."

Mandy didn't even look at them. She went straight to a work table, where toolboxes and the like awaited them. Since she didn't demand Cid's immediate obedience, he drifted towards the test tubes, standing a respectful distance away.

And froze, because he knew of the woman right in front of him. He'd only ever seen her sleeping face, encased in mako crystals, but he'd never forget her. Not when she mattered so much to Vincent.

"Hey, newbie!" Mandy called.

Cid turned, blinking slowly. "Who's this lady?"

"...Does it matter? We got work to do."

He shook his head, even though it _did_ matter.

Then he walked over and let himself be bossed around. The work they did that day was simple despite its importance. The reactor's main pumps needed maintenance, as productivity dropped. Though they were huge machines that moved hundreds of gallons of mako a day, Cid was familiar enough with their functions to not need much instruction. Mandy left him to it after a while, going off to tackle a different pump.

As he worked, Cid kept looking back towards the test tubes, unable to stop wondering. If she was who he thought she was, then things had just gotten a whole hell of a lot more complicated. He wondered if she were still alive. Vincent never said, one way or the other, except that he heard her voice. Cid always assumed nightmares or delusions or magic lifestream shit. No one in their right mind put dead people in tubes like that, so presumably the Luz Vuelve believed she lived.

Half formed plans rose in his mind, each more foolish than the last. No matter how he looked at it, there didn't seem to be any way to get her out in one piece. He kept coming back to wishing he had a way to contact the others.

For one brief moment, he thought about keeping it a secret. Dead or alive, a piece of Vincent’s heart would always belong to her. Cid squashed that vicious little thought, gritting his teeth as he shoved hard on his wrench, tightening a bolt. Not only would he not betray Vincent like that, he could not humor the notion of leaving someone to die if there was the slightest chance of redemption, no matter who they were or what they’d done.

"Not bad." Mandy stood over him, listening to the pump with her head cocked to the side. "You got that fixed up fast."

"No big thing." Cid shrugged. "Want me to do another?"

"Yeah, later. They're bringing lunch down in a minute."

"Alright, cool."

Lunch was lowered down in a basket with a rope and pulley. Sandwiches, chips, fruit cups, bottled water, and sodas, split between the three of them. The greasy haired man collected his share and retreated back to his chair, absorbed in his tablet while he ate. Cid and Mandy sat on the floor near the work table.

"You keep mooning at our lady," Mandy commented, between bites. "Never seen a lady so pretty, or what?"

"Uh. Looks like someone I know," Cid admitted.

"No way do you know her."

"What's her name?"

Mandy gave him a long, considering look, crunching chips. Then she shrugged a single shoulder, glancing off towards the test tubes. "That's Levinia."

"Uh. Huh."

The very real possibility that Vincent’s old flame might still be up to making the same old mistakes sunk cold claws into his gut. Cid took a big bite of his sandwich. He couldn't remember much of what she’d done, only that she’d been complicit in Sephiroth’s and Vincent’s fates. Harvesting the planet didn’t quite fit, but it also didn’t seem that far out there.

"Who's she make you think of?"

"Friend's ex-girlfriend. Her name sure ain't Levinia."

"Hah. Toldja you don't know her."

"So, uh, guess that's why she ain't been 'round? She sick?"

"Ehh…"

The conversation seemed to be over. Mandy made a point of eating the rest of her food as fast as possible, then shuffled off to work on one of the other pumps. Sighing through his nose and running a litany of curses through his head, Cid followed suit. Playing nice _chafed_ something fierce.

All told, the reactor possessed twenty pumps. Of those, six or so were in urgent need of attention, and if Cid's hearing wasn't playing tricks on him after spending so long in the thick of the endlessly buzzing machinery, he'd bet good gil that several more would need looking at before long. Between he and Mandy, they managed to get four of the problem machines back in working order before it was time to head back to the common room for dinner and much needed rest.

Cid limped, dull eyed and headachy, to his cell. He collapsed face first onto the awful, cold bed, and laid there without moving for a long time, not able to sleep and too miserable for anything else. It still felt like the whole world vibrated, all the way down to his marrow.

If he were any kind of super spy, he would have spent the evening socializing with the idiots down in the common room. Mandy sure didn't seem to be suffering any for spending an entire day down in the guts of a mako reactor. She'd been kicking some ass at the ping pong table when Cid retreated upstairs. His age must have caught up to him or something.

Sweet, blessed sleep crept up eventually. He dreamed of cold darkness that gave away to a swirl of red that brought warmth and the gentle prickle of golden claws against his nape. Vincent's deep voice whispered near his ear, promising, _"We will get you out of here, Chief."_

When Cid woke, he found himself shed of boots and holster, tucked under the blankets. Blearily, he blinked around the room. His boots were neatly lined against the far wall, the laces tucked in. The gun hung in the holster off the end of the bed, in easy reach. He did not remember doing any of these things. His heart clenched painfully. Rolling onto his side, he curled in on himself, clutching at his hair. Loneliness pressed down on him as heavy as stone.

After giving himself a good twenty minutes or so to feel sorry for himself, Cid rolled out of bed. Things needed fixing, and he'd been tapped in for the job. No one would ever be allowed to say Captain Cid Highwind slacked off and left things unfixed.

As he yanked his boots on, he felt his fingers tremble, the old crawling need for nicotine sharp and prickly along his spine. He grit his teeth, swallowing down the rising irritation. That, he decided, was the first priority to fix. And caffeine, since his tea intake dropped sharply with the poor quality brew available.

Cid snagged the gun holster and his jacket and marched out to face the day. The digital clocks on the common room walls said it was only 0526. Even so, people milled about in the common room and the cafeteria was full of noisy clatter and chatter. Cid had no trouble whatsoever acquiring coffee as thick and black as tar and a heaping breakfast of fried goods and one token banana, slightly mushy.

Begging a cigarette off someone proved to be slightly more troublesome. No one had any, and if they did, they weren't sharing. Cid swore all the way over to an empty table and slammed his tray down to start eating. He was resigned to a life without nicotine until the old guy from the first day in ambled over.

"Heard ya been down in the core," the old guy said, voice pitched low as he leaned close. His breath smelled rancid.

Cid poked a finger against the old guy's bony shoulder, nudging him back a bit. "What's it to ya?"

With a gleeful cackle, the old guy dug three slightly crumpled smokes out from his grubby flannel shirt's pocket. He wagged them, spilling precious tobacco from the ends, and then dropped them on Cid's tray. A battered match book appeared next, though the old guy didn't give it up yet, passing it from one gnarled hand to the other.

“Tell me, who's nappin' down 'ere?"

"Iunno nothin' useful," Cid said, eyeing the match book. "There were 'bout six of 'em but I ain't been told shit."

"Hmm..."

The old guy leaned up in Cid's personal bubble again, squinting one eye closed, and studied him for a long, stinky minute. Then he shrugged and hopped to his feet.

"Well, if'n ya hear anything good, ya come to ol' Aaròn first, right?"

"Sure."

With a decisive nod, Aaròn dumped the matchbook onto the table next to Cid's tray. His departure went largely unnoticed as Cid snatched up the matches and lit up. Nicotine hit in a rush and soothed frayed nerves. Cid slouched over his breakfast, exhaling with ragged relief.

Long after he finished his breakfast, Cid loitered in the cafeteria, nursing mugs of coffee while people-watching. He didn't learn anything useful, but it gave him time to think. Mandy collected him for their work shift just before 0800, escorting him all the way down to the reactor core once again. Without preamble, she nudged him towards one of the faulty pumps, moving off to handle the other herself.

"Levinia", if that was her name, still floated unconscious in the test tube. A different greasy-looking person slouched around in the chair near the tubes, fidgeting a lot more than the original guy did. Cid couldn't tell what gender they were and decided it didn't matter much. Their attention wandered often, and more than once, they dozed, startling when Cid or Mandy made a noise during their repairs.

Just before lunch, an alarm went off, discordant and loud. The lights flashed red, then went out. The pumps fell silent, the thrumming of the reactor stilled. Cid froze, staring upwards, as the planet's wail reverberated through his entire being, a sound of pure rage and sorrow.

A moment later, emergency power came on, keeping the reactor from melting down, but it was auxiliary, if the dim yellow emergency lights were any indication. The pumps stayed off, production temporarily halted in the crisis.

"Stay here," Mandy shouted, and scrambled up the ladder.

The greasy person in the chair cast frantic looks between the tubes, which hadn't been disturbed by the loss of power, and the ladder. Their panic got the better of them. They hightailed it up the ladder, presumably to put as much space between themself and the potential of a reactor meltdown.

"Well," Cid said, shakily pulling out one of the cigarettes and lighting up. "Ain't that convenient. Almost like I got a fuckin' guardian angel lookin' after me."

He stood and approached the test tubes. And froze because the woman's eyes were open, glowing green with slit pupils. They stared at one another for several long minutes, Cid stunned and unprepared and she wary and guarded. Then she motioned, pointing down at the base of the tube, where a console displaying statistics and general controls sat, waiting to be used. Cid hesitated only a moment, glancing back to the ladder. If the Luz Vuelve thought of her as their leader, they couldn't possibly hold following her orders against him.

He didn't know shit about operating laboratory equipment, but whoever designed the test tube made it so simple a baby could have done it. All Cid had to do was flip a switch to drain the mako, push a button to rinse her with water, and then release a hatch to open the tube.

"Here we go..."

She stepped out on trembly legs, head held high as if her nudity meant nothing. Cid shrugged his denim jacket off and held it out. Narrow eyed, she peered down her nose at it before accepting it, tying it around her waist to cover her groin. His shirt came next, a little grimy and sweat stained but apparently acceptable enough that she pulled it on.

"So now fuckin' what, lady?"

That startled a low, wheezy laugh out of her. "You don't seem like you belong to my captors," she said, her voice raspy with disuse. "I feel... like I know you. Have we met?"

"Yer name Levinia?"

"...That's what they called me." A shudder wracked her body. She clutched at her elbows, hunching inwards, pupils dilating. "Her. I- I'm not safe. I can feel her..."

She lifted her head, staring at Cid with those fucked up cat green eyes. Shivering as her muscles rippled beneath the skin, not yet losing shape but threatening to.

"Ah, fuck."

"You... you should run. Before Jenova--"

"Nah-uh. If yer Lucrecia, then I got to do the fuckin' dumb bullheaded thing and help ya."

"Why...? Do I know... you..." Blinking rapidly, she shook her head. "I have. I have seen you. With-- and in the lifestream...? Is he still--?"

"Yeah." Cid stepped closer, reaching for her shoulder but not touching yet. "Keep it together."

"Vincent... Tell Vincent... I'm sorry." Tears ran down her cheeks as she ducked her head, long wet hair falling into her face.

"Tell him ya damn self."

"I _can't_ , I'm-- she's here, in me, you should kill me!"

She hunched over, groaning, as her back began to swell. Some high pitched noise cut through the air, making Cid want to tear his hair out and bite his tongue off and crawl into the nearest dark hole.

"Fuck that!"

"Hurry up and do it! Jenova is--"

Cid slapped her. Hard enough to jerk her head to one side and leave a red mark on her cheek. Wide, shocked eyes stared at him, mouth agape. But the rippling transformation staggered to a halt. Her body shrank back down and became ordinary again, all but the gleam of cat-like eyes.

"Now quit fuckin' 'round, 'cuz the goons think ya their sainted leader and that's the only damn way we're gettin' outta here. So put that pretty lil head up high and _march_."

"Oh..." Gingerly touching at her cheek, she straightened. "What is... what is your name?"

"Cid."

"...Highwind. I remember now... Vincent spoke of you."

"And you."

Lucrecia gave a watery smile, then set her shoulders with some modicum of confidence. "Okay... let's get out of here. I want to see him."


	40. eyes are wide awake

In order to avoid an eyeful of Lucrecia's rear end, Cid climbed out of the reactor core first. He winced at the rough metal sheeting that made up the walkway outside, but Lucrecia never made a single complaint as she walked ahead of him. Sephiroth came by that look of someone who thought he owned the place honestly, it seemed, as she strode with her head up, shoulders squared, and hips swaying just so. Like she was off to murder someone for putting her in the juice.

The observation decks surrounding the core were a frenzy of panicked activity. No one paid them any mind. The first guard station they passed was abandoned, as was the materia processing floor. The second station had a single guard, who took one look at Lucrecia, blanched, and mashed the button to let them onto the elevator. Cid reclaimed his weapons, plus somebody's ID tags. Donning the gun holster over bare skin felt weird, but better than going without.

In the confines of the elevator, Lucrecia shrank in on herself, gasping and hiccuping as panic sucker punched her. She kept casting furtive looks at Cid all the way up, and this seemed enough to get herself together. He didn't offer any comfort, just looked at her with his arms folded and waited to see if he'd need to slap her again.

"I'm-- um, I'm not sure how this is going to go," Lucrecia admitted. "They think I'm Levinia. Jenova."

"Lemme guess, tossed yer ass in the brig when the alien fuckstick went haywire?"

"Yes, that's... one way to put it."

"Keep a lid on it, lady."

"What am I to do even if we make it out?? I don't know how long... I will be lucid."

"'Tween ya and Vince, got the makin's of a support group for poor fucks with rowdy headmates," Cid grumbled. "We'll figure it out."

"Oh..."

The elevator doors hissed open, letting them out on the main floor of the reactor. People shouted and ran about and typed furiously at their consoles, desperate to get things back online, back in order. Lucrecia strode through the room, making more than a few stop, or stumble, or outright recoil. She stopped at the first door, waiting for Cid to use the ID cards to open it, then moved on without looking back. No one tried to stop them. It was the same in the next room, though Cid thought he saw one nerdy girl scramble for a red phone on the wall, watching them as she dialed.

"Think we better expect a welcome wagon," Cid said, as they left the reactor.

"Yes. It will be... soon. I can hear them, their frantic thoughts, calling to me. To us. Her. Mother."

"Aw, fuck, these dumbasses been shootin' up with Jenova?"

"Of course. Humans... can't resist her call."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The dome outside the reactor was a growing disaster, with workers frantic to stave it off. A huge crack in the glass on the north side let in rushing gouts of seawater, which flooded into the pit of lifestream. Thick clouds of hissing steam roared up, scorching the metal walkway.

“Gonna hafta pick ya up, that okay?”

“I-- yes.”

She held her arms out to him, letting him pick her up bridal style, with her arms around his neck. Cid eyeballed the steam, gauging the height and distance, then crouched and leapt as high and as far as he possibly could. He barely managed to clear the gap, getting away with little more than damp pants and a hard landing that twisted his left knee. He set her down right away, rubbing at the aching joint.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “And thank you.”

“Thank me when we’re outta this goddamn hell hole.”

They made it all the way to the underwater tunnel before anyone thought to stop them. Just a cluster of confused looking workers, all of them pale as they looked at Lucrecia.

"Where are you--" A woman started to say, snapped her mouth shut, and tried again, voice stilted and expression blank. "My... lady. What are we to do?"

Lucrecia pressed a hand to her temple, trembling, until Cid poked her in the shoulder. The near fit faded, and the group parted as if jerked by invisible strings. Once released, they shrank against the glass.

"I can... feel him. He is near. Vincent..."

"Where?"

"Above..." Lucrecia looked up, as if she could see through the ocean and bedrock itself. Her gaze followed whatever she sensed. "He's caused trouble for her lights... But he's safe. I think."

"Good. Let's keep movin'."

"Yes."

The hallway slanting up took them to the same level as the common room. It also brought them face to face with a gaggle of people blocking the hallway, all of them armed with mismatched guns. Cid knew none of them and felt glad that he'd never bothered to make friends during his stay. He started to step forward to get between Lucrecia and the guns, but she laid her hand flat against his chest and held him back as easily as she might a small child. Her gaze never left the group.

"Move," she said, and some of them did, staggering to the side with wide eyes.

Lorenzo came up behind the crowd, then pushed his way forward. "My dear Levinia, why are you up and wandering about?"

"I want to see the sun."

"You're not well..."

"I'm f--" Lucrecia's body shook with tension. "I'm fine. I will be fine, when I've gotten some sun."

"Did you break things, downstairs, dear? For this... selfish desire to leave?"

"No."

"Did your... new friend?"

"No, I--" Lucrecia looked over her shoulder at Cid. "You didn't, did you? Try to ruin things?"

"Nah-uh, I got them damn pumps workin' and saw ya chokin' up and needin' air."

She nodded, decisive, and looked at Lorenzo once more. "He is only escorting me. He hasn't done anything I haven't asked for."

"...I see. That's alright then, isn't it?" His tone suggested it was the opposite of alright. "Come, darling, let's get you into some proper clothes, have a sit before we go to the surface..."

With guns trained on them still, they had little choice but to go along with Lorenzo. He took them to the lavish office, where things were quiet and dim, the noises of panic muffled by thick walls. Lucrecia sat nervously at the edge of a chair, watching Lorenzo vanish into a back room. Cid stood near her, arms folded, glowering at the trio of gunners that blocked the path to the door.

Lorenzo came back with a cotton summer dress and undergarments draped over his arm. He had a matching ribbon, sandals, and a brush in his arms.

"Wait outside," he told the gunners. He eyed Cid balefully. "You, too."

Lucrecia shook her head, too fast and too panicky. "No!"

"I'm stayin' for the lady's comfort, thank ya very much. Ain't nothin' left to see."

"...Very well. Shall I dress you, my dear?"

"No, I... can do it myself. Please leave us."

Lorenzo gave them both sour looks, dumping the clothes on the couch. "I don't _understand_ , my dear, you behave as if we are strangers... Are you _really_ so sore about needing to sleep again?"

"You put me... in a tube at the bottom of a reactor. And used me." Lucrecia's head was down, but cat green eyes glared from behind her bangs. Her tone was ice. "W-- I have every right to be furious! Get out! Get away from me!!"

Lorenzo flinched, recoiling, and scurried out. When he was gone, Cid grabbed Lucrecia by the shoulder, digging his fingers in, until the shuddering ripples of flesh gone malleable settled again. Until the glassy, far away loathing faded from her eyes and all that remained was fear and sorrow.

"I... thank you," she mumbled. "Would you, ah, mind... looking away, even if you _have_ seen everything?"

"Don't fuckin' shove a tentacle up my backside."

She laughed, startled and incredulous, as he moved away to give her some privacy. While she dressed, Cid listened at the door they'd come through. He couldn't hear much of what was happening on the other side, but he heard low grumbles. At the very least, the gunners still guarded the door, trapping them inside.

Over the rustle of cloth, Lucrecia said, "They won't let us out."

Cid shrugged, conceding the point. "Prolly not willingly. Ain't killed our asses yet, though."

"I... suppose not. Lorenzo... I think he loves us. Her. Or is obsessed enough to believe it's love." Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. "I don't, I don't want to stay here with those men... Those people..."

At risk of getting an eyeful, Cid abandoned listening at the door and hurried over. Thankfully, Lucrecia managed to get the undergarments on before doubling over her knees. Cid glared at the unnatural wobble of flesh trying to rearrange itself like he could cow the alien entity causing it into submission. Then he laid his hands on her shoulders, making her look at him.

"Ain't leavin' ya here to their mercies, alright? Yer comin' with me, whatever it takes."

"I... You shouldn't, not for me--"

"Don't fuckin' start--"

"--But I am, I'm grateful."

Cid blew out an exasperated bark of laughter, shaking his head. "Ya and Vince, holy fuck." He settled back, sitting down on the coffee table. "How the fuck these lights get ya anyhow? Thought ya were still in the cave..."

"The cave..." Lucrecia's gaze became far away; she stared right through him with a slack expression that soon became distraught and teary. She grabbed at his wrists, clinging. "I. I. This isn't me. I'm still-- I need to go back. Please, take me back, I'm _dying_. She took me, broke me."

"Woah, slow down, what's goin' on?"

"There's... I'm not." Taking in a slow, ragged breath, she struggled for control. It took her several minutes to finally stop shaking, to be able to speak somewhat evenly. "The J Cells... this body is-- I think it's almost entirely J Cells. Pulled from my real body, which is... still in the cave. Dying."

"...Holy shit. What the fuck. Why the hell y'all damn bio engineers always fuckin' shit up so damn badly. Ain't goddamn right, meddlin' with shit. Fuck."

"You are not ours," Lucrecia said suddenly, her grip tightening on his wrists. "...How?"

Cid pulled his arms away from her. He thought about sweet pea, about how miraculous it was that he’d survived his time in the lifestream. "Pretty sure I belong to the planet or somethin'."

"Oh... Then you _should_ kill me. To protect the planet."

"Not fuckin' gonna." He jerked his chin towards the pile of clothes. "Get dressed."

With a sad smile and a nod, she pulled the dress on. Meanwhile, Cid got up and went to investigate the back door. He found a short hallway going left and right. Three doors led to bedrooms--the middle one looked excessively feminine. At one end of the hallway was a bathroom with the privy hidden in a stall. No exits in any of those rooms.

Cid looked down the other end of the hall, to a thick metal door with a valve and a complicated set of locks. Not electronic, but some kind of mechanical puzzle.

"Could you help me?" Lucrecia called out. "With... my hair?"

"Uh. Yeah, sure."

Worrying about hair right then seemed pretty stupid, but he figured if it kept her calm. He went back out, accepting the brush and ribbon from her, and waited until she'd moved to sit on the coffee table so he could get behind her to start brushing. Her hair was ridiculously long. Longer than Sephiroth's was, maybe. While she was sitting, it draped down on the floor. On second thought, getting it under control would probably save them a headache later.

"I ain't any good at tails. Braid okay?"

"Yes."

"Fuck, I hope them brothers don't come back... There's a door back there. All tricked out. Ya know anything 'bout openin' it?"

"I... don't know. She might. Um."

Cid worked quickly, weaving the hair into a thick braid. He tied the end off with the ribbon, then let it drop, eyeing his work critically. The whole time, Lucrecia sat slightly hunched, lost in thought.

"All done," he told her.

"Let me see the door."

Lucrecia left the flimsy sandals behind, and Cid wasn't inclined to collect them. After he showed her the door and left her to frown at it in that distant, thoughtful way that said she wasn't all there, he went to poke around in the middle bedroom to see if he could find some better footwear. He came out with a pair of sneakers and socks.

"Ya figure it out?"

"No... I can't, she won't _tell_ me." Lucrecia tugged at her bangs, gnawing at her lips as she studied the door. "It's too complex to guess at. She wants... wants us to do something for her."

"Not that I give a flyin' _fuck_ what that nastyass pile of slop wants, but... The fuck's the hold up?"

"She... she wants the son. The perfect son... Her son." Lucrecia turned towards Cid, hands pressed to her belly. " _My_ son. What's happened to him?"

"If we're lucky, he's dead and ain't fuckin' comin' back."

"No... No!" Doubling over, Lucrecia clutched at the cloth over her belly, shaking. "We. We can feel him."

That high pitched sound came back, piercing and horrible. As it did, her voice became softer, muffled under the overlapping sounds of something raspy and high pitched, with too many guttural clicking noises. Something not human trying to emulate their voices.

"Your planet has him. Give him back. He is _ours_!"

Lucrecia straightened, and then jumped at him, swinging a fist from the side. Cid brought his arms up to block it, but it wasn't the fist of an ordinary woman that hit him. The flesh twisted, becoming elongated and sinuous, and wrapped tight around his arms, restricting his movement.

"The fuck--!"

The thing in Lucrecia's body leaned close, cold green eyes inches from his own. It stared through him and he felt a growing, burning ache behind his eyes. He had the uncomfortable sensation of someone trying to dig their fingers through his brain, leaving stabbing pain behind. Groaning, he slumped, struggling to stay conscious.

"Where _is he_!!" she hissed.

"F... fuck... ya... Iunno _shit_."

The sensation of something inside his skull withdrew, leaving him achy and gasping. She did not release her physical hold on him, giving him a harsh shake.

"You will die down here like the vermin you are if you are no use to me."

"Hah..." Cid hawked a loogie up and spat it at her. It splattered against her cheek, making her recoil and drop him. He curled in on himself on the floor, one hand braced against the cold stone until the world stopped spinning, until the pain abated enough that the dark spots in his vision drifted away. "Ya... ain't never gonna fuckin' find _shit_ if ya kill me."

"What makes _you_ so important?! I can have hundreds, thousands of other vermin just like you!"

"How's that... fuckin' worked out for ya?" Cid lifted his head slowly, glaring. Something wet trickled from his nose; he swiped the back of his hand underneath it, and was not the least bit surprised to see blood smeared on his skin. "None them ever met Sephiroth."

"And you did?"

"Fought him, sure."

She dropped into a sudden crouch, right in front of him, getting up in his space again. "You said you didn't know anything. We will know if you are lying to save your worthless hide."

"Pssht. Ffffuck off." He pushed at her shoulders, but she didn't budge. "I've got friends that know what ya want, but ya gotta let us the fuck outta here, and ya gotta put Lucrecia back in the goddamn driver's seat."

Again, he had to endure that sensation of her picking through his skull. It hurt less this time, but set off a nosebleed from the other nostril. While sparks fluttered across his vision, she stood and went to the door. Distantly, he heard rapid rattling of metal, then the clatter of locks falling open.

When the woman turned back, her eyes were soft and teary. Lucrecia gasped, reaching to help him up with ordinary human hands. "I'm-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Don't fuckin' worry 'bout it," he mumbled, leaning heavily on her. "Get yer damn shoes and let's blow this shithole."

She left Cid against the wall in order to yank the socks and shoes on. In the other room, the door opened, and Lorenzo called out, "Levinia, dear heart?"

Together, Cid and Lucrecia escaped through the puzzle door, slamming it behind them. She hesitated, listening to the locks sliding back into place. Muffled shouting on the other side indicated that Lorenzo hadn't come back alone.

"He knows the solution."

"No fuckin' shit," Cid snapped. "So let's _go_ while he's pickin' at it."

"Wait."

Hunching in on herself, Lucrecia trembled. Cid thought it another damn attack, Jenova trying to interfere again, and lifted his hand to shake her out of it. She moved out of reach, grabbing the edge of the door handle. With herculean effort, she yanked, crumpling metal like a soda can. The sharp edges tore through her skin, but almost as soon as she let go, it began to heal, letting off clouds of steam.

"Holy shit," Cid breathed. 

"Now they can't follow."

She smiled at him, a little nervous, and he couldn't help but grin back, equally on edge but giddy at the prospect that they might actually have a chance.

"Awesome, let's fuckin' bail."

Side by side, they walked down the short hallway and found a ladder going up. Cid went first, at Lucrecia’s insistence-- “Jenova… wasn't gentle with you. If you fall, I can catch you,” she said, frowning.

They climbed for about twenty feet, then came out in a narrow hallway that sloped gently upwards and always curved right. Round and round and round they went, walking with no clear idea where they might come out.

Their only source of light were dim yellow emergency lights along the base of the walls, scattered every ten feet or so. If not for the mako enhanced sight, Cid might have started cracking up from how dark and claustrophobic the hall was. Lucrecia stayed a little too close the whole time, her breathing growing more ragged the longer they walked.

“Ya gonna be okay?”

“I’m… I've been sleeping inside lights for so long… I’ll be, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, just fuckin’ keep goin’.”

The hall could not go on forever. Big metal doors stood between them and potential freedom. Lucrecia took one look at the console next to it, with its eye scanner and ID card slot, and decided she didn't have the patience to try it. She ripped the left door right off its hinges, shoving the broken hunk of metal out if their way.

On the other side, they found pandemonium.


	41. say i don't belong

Screams, gunfire, explosions, and smoke filled the halls. Cid had a split second to register that Barret stood by the elevator going up, firing his gun arm as he turned towards them, yelling. Then he grabbed Lucrecia by the arm and threw them both behind the remaining door. Bullets ricocheted, pinging, but didn't penetrate the thick metal.

"What the _fuck_!! Watch where yer goddamn shootin' ya fuckin' loon!" Cid shouted.

He kept his body folded over Lucrecia as she hunched against the door, shaking and struggling to hold Jenova back. Her hands crept up, curling around the strap of the gun holster to hang on as if she were drowning. Little by little, the fit abated, leaving her shaken but still herself.

"What the fuck?!" Barret shouted. "Cid? That ya?"

Nanaki roared somewhere down the hall, echoing and rising over the gunfire. Screams followed, short and bloody. Then came the slap of paws on concrete, closer and closer, skidding to a stop near the door.

"Did we find him? Cid?"

A wet nose snuffled around the edge of the door, then a single eye peered. Lucrecia flinched, mouth agape, but she didn't lapse into another power struggle with the alien entity inhabiting her.

"What is _that_ ," she squeaked.

"Yeah, I'm right fuckin' here, everybody calm the hell down."

"You're bloody," Nanaki said, licking at his maw.

In the background, Barret shouted curses, laying down cover fire. A resounding crash rattled the ground, followed by a crack of thunder. The lights flickered wildly.

"Just... a fuckin' nosebleed. I ain't hurt."

"And this woman...?"

"I gotta get her home fast. She's dyin'." Cid pushed himself to his feet, then held his hand out to help Lucrecia up. "Everyone here?"

"Yes. We came to find you..."

"Good. Where's Vince?"

"Um." Lucrecia turned in place, then pointed through the walls. "He's... back down there... Fighting."

"Yuffie is with him, don't worry," Nanaki said. "You should escape while the elevator still works... The WRO hold the lighthouse."

Lucrecia shook her head, resisting when Cid tried to pull her towards the elevator. "I won't leave without Vincent."

"Ah, hell, I don't like it neither, but he's gonna be fine."

"No. He's so close... I have to see him. I don't know if... If I'll still be me when we go back."

"Fuuuuck."

"I'll go find him."

Nanaki bounded off before Cid could cuss them both out for being stupid.

"Stay right fuckin' here, don't get shot," he told Lucrecia.

"What about you?"

"My friends need help." Cid pulled out his last, battered cigarette and the matchbook, lighting up. He took a deep inhale, tossed the match book and drew the gun, checking the magazine even though he hadn't touched it since Vincent gave it to him. "Can't sit idly by while they fightin'."

"You are... everything Vincent said you would be. Don't die. I don't... know if your friends would be as kind to me."

"Haha, jokes on ya, I'm the fuckin' nastiest one of the bunch."

Cid aimed a grin at her around his cigarette, then rolled out into the hallway to help Barret fight the Luz Vuelve off.

He wasn't that great of a shot, but neither were the panicky goons at the end of the hall. When they got too close, he and Barret activated their materia, unleashing an inferno of fire that roared down the hall. The smell of burnt hair and charred meat turned Cid's stomach, but not nearly as badly as the following screams. There was no time for mercy; more people took up the fight almost immediately.

Not long after, Cid ran out of ammo. Cursing, he shoved the gun into the holster and cast around for another weapon. There were plenty still usable amidst the charred bodies, including a number of baseball bats and staves.

"Cover me!" he yelled at Barret, then ran forward, dropping into a slide.

Bullets flew around him from either side. One nicked his cheek, stinging, and he counted himself lucky that no others found their mark. He snatched a staff up, hating that it didn't have a blade attached, and crab scuttled back behind a metal table tilted on its side. It was already badly dented with a few holes in it and wouldn't hold long.

It didn't need to last.

A huge group charged at once, yelling at the top of their lungs as if that would stop the bullets from Barret's arm. As they plowed over their fallen, stumbling past Cid's flimsy barrier, he swung the staff, cracking someone's knees. They went down with a shriek and got trampled. Cid rolled to his feet, throwing himself into the fray, spinning the staff and jabbing it into soft bits, swinging it to smash skulls, kicking out whenever someone got too close. Barret fell back to the elevator, picking off those that got past Cid.

The crowd seemed endless, until suddenly it wasn't. A huge shuriken whizzed through the air from down the hall, flying so fast that it whined, slicing through limbs like paper. Cid flattened himself against the wall to avoid it, and stayed there until it bounced back to its owner. Yuffie threw a victory sign, grinning, as Tifa and Rude raced past her, laying into survivors with brutal punches.

In just a few short minutes, all that remained of the attacking force was a heap of bodies. Survivors lay prone, clutching at wounds if they were still conscious.

"Hey, you lot," Yuffie shouted. "You're all under arrest by order of Commissioner Reeve Tuesti of the World Regenesis Organization! If you want to live, you'll stay down!"

Tifa walked over to Cid, beaming. "I'm glad you're safe, Captain."

"Nothin' to it." Cid thumbed his nose, grinning. "Where's Spike?"

"There are..."

In the absence of the roar of noise that came with battle, Cid heard gunfire and the clang of metal further on. An explosion of energy blasted out from the common room, billowing down the hall. By the time it reached them, it was nothing more than hot air and smoke. A resounding howl from Nanaki followed, answered by the roar of Galian.

"Tougher enemies down there," Tifa finished.

"Fuck, I'm goin'!"

"Don't go without me!" Lucrecia darted from her hiding place, giving Barret and the others a wide berth as she hurried towards Cid. "I want to help."

"Shit, alright, c'mon."

"Cid, who's--?" Tifa floundered, but they were already on the move, leaving her behind.

"Grab somethin' to protect yerself with."

Lucrecia made a disbelieving noise, but as they clambered past a barricade heaped with bodies, she snagged a hunting rifle and slung it over her shoulder. Cid traded his now bent staff for one of better quality, with low grade materia already slotted in it.

The common room was a disaster area made up of smashed furniture, crumpled stairwells, broken walkways, doors and walls torn asunder, and huge craters in the floor.

Nanaki and Galian Beast chased Lorenzo around the higher levels, leaping across the gaps and up or down stairs to keep up with his enhanced speed. He used a long, thin sword, his blows almost too fast to see. Galian and Nanaki both trailed blood from numerous thin cuts, but Lorenzo wasn't unscathed either. Burns ruined his pretty face and half his torso, healing slowly, and blood soaked his pants where one or both of the beasts' claws had found purchase.

Cloud fought Luciano, backed up by cover fire from Tseng, Reno, and Elena. The big man wasn't as fast as his brother, but his massive warhammer left craters whenever it impacted with the walls and floors. The Turks slowed his charges down enough that Cloud could escape becoming a pancake. The fight largely seemed to be a standoff, as neither fighter could get a solid hit in.

"Fuck..."

Feeling woefully inadequate and unprepared, Cid clutched his stolen staff. All he could do was watch, waiting for any kind of opening. Beside him, Lucrecia lifted her gun, taking aim, but kept her finger off the trigger.

"They're all too fast," she said. "I can follow them, but..."

"Yeah."

With a high pitched yowl, Nanaki fell from the walkway, hitting the ground with a crunch and splatter. Lorenzo dropped down, sword first, to finish him off.

Time slowed. Blood rushed through his ears as Cid raced to throw himself between the blade and his friend. The sword sent off sparks as it smashed into his staff, screeching on the downward slide. Lorenzo jumped away the minute he touched down, and Cid wanted to follow, but a shadow landed behind Lorenzo, red eyes ablaze.

Galian Beast threw its head back with an ear splitting roar that made everyone in the room stagger. Massive orbs of molten fire appeared all around Lorenzo, growing in size rapidly. Cid dropped the staff and gathered Nanaki up, throwing him over a shoulder, wincing at the weak snarl of pain the red beast made, the grinding crunch of bones with every movement. No time for being gentle, not with fire at his heels. Cid fled towards the exit, grabbing Lucrecia by the wrist to drag her to safety once more.

Fire exploded, turning the air hot and sulfurous. Cid choked on it, coughing, and heard the others struggling to breathe too. He staggered down the hall, eyes watering, until he spotted Yuffie, Tifa, and Rude picking through the survivors, dragging them away from the dead bodies.

Then he heard another roar from the beast, triumphant.

"Cid!" Yuffie scrambled over. "Oh, no, Nanaki!! Tifa!"

Cid relinquished Nanaki to the two women, rubbing at his shoulder, which ached a little from having so much weight bouncing on it all of a sudden. Trusting in their combined healing skills, he turned back towards the common room. Lucrecia had only followed him just far enough to escape the backdraft, and stood waiting near the common room door, the rifle held loosely with the barrel pointed down. Her expression was grim.

"That... Hojo's experiments... Does Vincent still have Chaos?"

"No."

"No," she echoed, nodding sadly. "Can he control himself?"

"Guess we'll fuckin' see, yeah?" Cid strode back into the common room, not sure what to expect.

Through the haze of smoke, Cid saw that the Turks were down, hunkered behind long cafeteria tables. Tseng peered over the barricade, gun ready, but made no sudden moves. Reno sprawled flat out on his belly, his red hair spread over him like blood. Elena fretted over him, applying pressure to a wound on his back. Cloud crouched on one of the upper floors, leaning heavily on the fully completed sword. Blood ran down his arm from jagged slashes that hadn't come from their hammer-wielding enemy.

The Galian Beast found new prey in Luciano, relentlessly hounding him with fast swipes of claws, snarling with each hit. The man blocked as many as he could with his hammer's handle, and took the brunt of the rest, staggering back.

"Gotta say, it ain't lookin' good for us. I didn't fuckin' bring sleep materia."

"No... Vincent... We can't reason with him? You can't do... whatever you keep doing to quiet her?"

"Lady, I don't fuckin' know that I been doin' shit."

"But you have. I felt it, the lifestream... through you."

Cid blanched. "This fuckin' magic shit is over my head. I'm a goddamn rocket scientist and a pilot. Fuck."

Knowing full well that he couldn't just stand back and wait for the Beast to turn on them, Cid made a snap decision. He pulled the gun out and offered it to Lucrecia. She slung the rifle over her shoulder in order to take the handgun.

"Ain't any damn bullets left, but ya take yer ass on up with that cure and help Cloud." He pointed up to the other blond at her confused blinking. "He's our best bet for subduin' the beast, if it comes to that."

"Okay... What are you going to do?"

"Help Vince finish that fucker off, then keep him distracted. So hurry yer ass up!"

Lucrecia snapped to, rushing up the wobbly metal staircase. It groaned and creaked ominously but did not give out under her weight.

The crappy staff somehow survived the explosion, though when Cid grabbed it, he saw that one of the purple materia in it had cracked. Not wanting to risk it backfiring on him, he smacked it out, letting it shatter to pieces on the concrete. That left a green, a blue, and a yellow materia, and he didn't have time to check what they were. He ran to join the fight.

The beast no longer possessed the awareness to avoid hitting friendly targets, so Cid found himself dodging claws almost as much as Luciano's feeble attempts to shove and kick him away. He'd expected that, though, and kept a careful distance, only darting in to knock Luciano off-balance any time the man looked like he might manage to retaliate.

All of a sudden, a shimmering white barrier materialized between them and Luciano. The beast rebounded off of it with a growl and fell back, breathing smoke. Cid jumped out of the way right as it blew a gout of flame out. Another barrier went up, this time prismatic, and the fire went off to all sides, scattered and snuffed out for lack of anything to catch on.

"Cid!" Lucrecia shouted from up above.

When he looked up at her, she pointed across the way. Guadalupe stood at the railing above Luciano, holding her bangled arms up. The color of her eyes flickered between gold and green, noticed only because she stood in shadow. A single black wing stretched out behind her, too large for her small body. Feathers drifted down as she flapped it anxiously.

"Aw, fuuuuuck." Cid dropped his head back with a groan. “I don't need this shit right now!”

Shimmering purple lights drifted down over Luciano. He straightened as his wounds faded, giving an ugly grin behind his double layer of shields as he hefted his hammer. With a guttural shout, he rushed at Cid.

The beast lowered its head, snorting like a bull. It apparently decided it only wanted easy prey, turning away from Luciano to level its deadly horns at Cid. With a rumble deep in its throat, it charged, streaming smoke from its maw.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

Caught between two impossible foes, Cid did the only reasonable thing, which was to retreat. He jumped away and hit the ground running, narrowly avoiding sharp horns and a hammer that could flatten him. Luciano and the beast collided and had a short scuffle that mostly involved the beast thrashing uselessly against the barriers, losing interest, and kicking off to chase Cid down.

A streak of blue afterimages arced down from above. Cloud hit Luciano's barriers hard enough to send shockwaves of energy out. The barriers shattered, sparks of light flying, and then Luciano found himself desperately defending against a flurry of blows. Metal clashed against metal, clanging and sparking with each hit.

And all the while, Cid ducked and weaved and dodged away from the beast, going round and round the common room and swearing the whole time. He took a bad turn, stumbling, and got himself cornered between broken heaps of furniture and a wall.

A gunshot echoed, the bullet nicking the beast in the shoulder. The beast jerked, slammed through the wreckage, skidded from going too fast, and smashed into Cid's side, claws and horns missing their mark. The impact knocked the air out of Cid's lungs, and from the sharp pain that followed, probably broke a few ribs.

He couldn't gasp out the _what the fuck, Vince_ , but he thought it, really hard, and shoved at the beast petulantly as it struggled to get back to its feet. Static electricity shocked them both, made the beast flinch away comically.

The beast swung its head around to stare at Cid, no longer wild eyed and furious. The fight went right out of it. It snuffled at Cid's hair and face, ears dropping back.

"That better fuckin' be ya in there, Valentine," Cid wheezed, pushing the snout away from his face.

"...Shid."

Dark purple energy spun up around the beast, shrinking it back down until Vincent stood in its place. His shoulders slumped, exhaustion evident. Cid huffed and didn't avoid the grasping hand and claw that came to cradle his face.

"...Sorry, Chief."

"Ehh. Got a... Cure?"

Vincent pulled Cerberus out of its holster and offered it, grip first. Cid didn't take it, but laid his hand on it to activate the materia. He couldn't afford the fatigue that followed, so he used the least amount of energy possible, healing just enough that he could breathe again. His side remained bruised-feeling, twinging on every deep breath and every movement.

"Cloudy boy havin' a lil trouble."

Cid jerked his chin towards the fight, watching as another shower of purple sparks from above kept Luciano going. Hefting his gun, Vincent eyed the girl in the wings. And froze, eyes widening the slightest amount. Cid followed his gaze up, spotting Lucrecia walking towards Guadalupe, rifle raised.

The voice that came out of Lucrecia's mouth wasn't her own. It was wrong, too gurgling and piercing. "Give us back our son!"

Vincent whispered, "That can't be--"

"Shit." Cid made a grab for Vincent's arm, but was shaken off immediately. "Vince, wait!"

Too late. In a blur of red cloth, Vincent took off, flying through the air to land a few feet behind Lucrecia-- Jenova, really. As he crouched, preparing to jump up there, Cid heard a sickening crunch and gurgle, followed by Luciano letting out one last groan. He glanced over to see Cloud yank his sword loose from the body, blood splattering.

"Oi, Cloud, trouble up top!" Cid shouted, and then jumped.

His landing wasn't neat; he almost missed it entirely. He barely managed to grab onto the railings near Vincent, grunting as his ribs protested being bashed up again.

"Fuckin' god damn _shit_ ," Cid groaned, hauling himself up onto the walkway.

"Mother?" a deep voice said, out of place coming from a girl that couldn't speak.

Lucrecia and Jenova answered, "Yes, come back to us. We--" Their voices split apart, Lucrecia's a low sob that said, "--wanted to meet you," and Jenova's a venomous hiss above that, "--need to destroy this planet."

Vincent drifted towards Lucrecia, flesh hand outstretched. Not wanting to find out what Jenova would do, Cid raced over and bodily tackled him, pulling him away.

"What are you _doing_ ," Vincent demanded, struggling in his grasp.

"Don't-- just--" Cid grunted when the metal arm elbowed him in the ribs, hard. Then he doubled over, spitting up blood, his grasp loosening as the pain washed over him. His breath came out in sharp, whistling gasps.

Vincent went still, alarmed. "Chief--" He stopped trying to get away, gingerly putting his arm around Cid's waist to keep him from falling over. "I'm--"

"Ffff... ugh. Damn... it. Fuckin' _wait_ , will ya? Ain't... safe."

Cloud came rushing up the stairs just as Guadalupe and Lucrecia/Jenova stepped close to one another, setting off a blinding light show. "What the fuck," he said, eloquently summing up Cid's thoughts.


	42. i should retreat

The black wing curled around Lucrecia/Jenova, sheltering her from the updraft of greenish energy whipping around their feet. Guadalupe's small frame stretched, broadened, tripling in size, until a man that wouldn't stay dead stood in her place. He reached out, curling his hands around Lucrecia's throat, forcing her to stay still.

Meanwhile, Lucrecia shuddered, her flesh rippling and warping. Jenova pushed up and out of the fragile body, sinuous tentacles ripping free of flesh in a splatter of gore. Jenova let out a piercing shriek of triumph, drowning out Lucrecia's screams.

"Lucrecia!" Vincent's arm tightened around Cid, but though he looked desperate to do something, anything, he didn't move.

All Cloud could focus on was, "Sephiroth." He ran forward, sword drawn back, his face a mask of fury. "Why won't you stay in my memories, _where you belong_?!"

"Ah, Cloud." Sephiroth released Lucrecia and she slumped to the floor. He swung his arm out, his ridiculously long sword materializing, and deflected Cloud's attack with ease. "I do not belong to you."

What would normally follow Cloud and Sephiroth meeting up again would be the kind of sword fight that defied all laws of logic and gravity. But Jenova's massive be-tentacled form swelled, taking up all available surface. Lucrecia was buried beneath the freakish mass of flesh.

Cloud leapt away, clinging to the upper floor's railing with one hand, feet braced against the ledge, sword hanging down. Sephiroth laughed, spreading his arms as the tentacles wrapped around him. Jenova made a noise very like crooning, if crooning involved a lot of hissing, gurgling, and that awful high pitched sound that gave Cid the kind of migraine that made him wish he were dead.

Jenova began to become translucent, muscle and blood vessels visible through her skin, then bones, and finally all that remained of her was a sickly miasma of energy. It flowed around Sephiroth, and then sank into him. His laughter grew louder. Then, as soon as all of the energy faded away, leaving an eerie calm, he fell abruptly silent, spinning on his heel to raise the sword horizontally before him. His cat green eyes fixed on Cloud up above.

"Come, my puppet."

Cloud dropped down, meeting the challenge. The flash and clang of swords was too fast, each hit setting off shockwaves. The pair burst from the second floor down to the first, where they had more room for their destructive dance. The walls rumbled alarmingly, the whole place threatening to collapse under the sheer force.

"Heal me," Cid wheezed, nudging his arm against Vincent's side. "And get Lucrecia outta here."

"You'll fall asleep."

"Just... fuckin' do it!"

As a rainbow of lights washed over him, taking away all the pain in exchange for growing fatigue, Cid pushed away from Vincent, shouldering the useless staff with its useless materia. He felt furious and trapped and damn sure death was waiting for him to give in. More than anything, he wished he still had a cigarette left.

"Hey, starshine..."

Vincent yanked him in for a bruising kiss that split their lips. "Don't die."

"...Same to ya." Cid licked at the blood on his lips. "Guess that means ya ain't gettin' bored with me if we save yer girl, huh?"

"Hn."

As Vincent swept away in a swirl of red to collect Lucrecia, ferrying her off to safety, Cid jumped down to join the fight he felt woefully unprepared for. He and Cloud fell in an easy rhythm, though Cid couldn't quite keep up with the supernatural speed of the swordsmen. He managed to avoid that deadly sword, and his presence slowed Sephiroth enough that Cloud could get hits in. Ichor, not blood, spilled from the superficial cuts on Sephiroth's skin.

"I didn't invite you," Sephiroth said, turning his focus entirely onto Cid.

"I fuckin' invited myself!"

Sephiroth spun, neatly avoiding Cloud, and lunged at Cid, unleashing a fast series of blows. Cid brought the staff up, spinning it to deflect. By the fifth hit, the staff snapped in three. Cid jerked his face back to avoid getting smacked by one of the flying pieces. As a result, the katana narrowly missed going through Cid's neck, sliding along the surface of his skin to leave a trail of blood behind.

Cloud fell on Sephiroth from behind, streaming blue afterimages. Knowing better than to get in the way of Cloud's penultimate attack, Cid jumped away, watching in awe as Cloud's sword split into parts, floating around Sephiroth. Those parts split further into glowing clones. Cloud grabbed one and slammed through Sephiroth; he grabbed another and swung back for another hit. One by one, he went through the swords until Sephiroth looked like a pincushion. Every hit sent out waves of blue energy and Cloud moved so fast that he left afterimages in his wake and set off sonic booms that shook the whole room.

Smiling through the black ichor streaming from his mouth, Sephiroth stood. He flexed his wing, throwing Cloud and his swords away. They hit the walls, some sticking solidly in the crumbling concrete, others clattering to the floor. Cloud landed in a crouch, skidding several feet before stopping. Worst of all, Sephiroth seemed unfazed. His wounds steamed as they closed up, courtesy of Jenova herself, if the growing ringing in Cid's head meant anything other than panic and an inevitable collapse.

Exhaustion darkened the edges of Cid's vision. He panted, hunched over his knees. The only piece of the shitty staff he still had was the bit with the materia slotted into it.

"Fuckin'... goddamn _shit_."

If Cloud couldn't take Sephiroth down this time, they were all doomed. Sweet pea wouldn't last a day with the silver haired fucker and his freaky mother on the loose. Cid clenched his teeth, feeling the familiar burn of adrenaline surging up. Something unfamiliar joined in, heralded by the wail of the planet shaking the complex. Lifestream pushed through the cracks in the concrete, snapping and buzzing and swirling at Cid's and Cloud's feet.

Not knowing what the hell it meant and not caring, Cid rushed at Sephiroth while he still had the energy. He jumped over the sword singing through the air, raising the dinky two feet of metal and wood in his hand. A wordless roar filled his head as he came down.

The lifestream followed him in a sinuous arc, becoming solid. It formed a maw with many teeth, huge frills spread on either side, long whiskers and tendrils trailing along the serpentine body. The roar became reality, drowning out Jenova's piercing ringing and the planet's wail.

As Cid smashed the hunk of staff against Sephiroth's shoulder, the dragon crashed down on them. It went harmlessly through Cid, but tore through Sephiroth, ripping Jenova and he apart and out of Guadalupe's body. Sephiroth, greatly diminished and beginning to fade, rolled away, came up with his sword level. Jenova thrashed, oozing and struggling to keep her parts together as they started to dissolve.

If that'd been the end of it, Cid would have died as Sephiroth lunged, sword tip aiming for his heart.

The yellow materia in the staff flared, activating. Cid felt himself pulled through the motions of leaping up, out of the way, and coming back down to smash the spear piece against Sephiroth's hand. The lifestream dragon roared up from the ground, following Cid to barrel through Sephiroth again.

And again. And again.

Four times, Cid leapt and slammed into Sephiroth. Four times, the dragon reformed and tore through Sephiroth with destructive force.

Jenova never stood a chance under such a battering. She let out one last, long screech as the planet's lifeblood tore her to bloodied pieces. She melted into the concrete, leaving a stinking stain behind.

Sephiroth knelt, the tip of his sword sunk into the concrete. He was all but a ghost, the only thing solid about him was his glowing green eyes glaring balefully.

As for Cid, he landed in a heap, unable to stand or even sit up. The world spun off its axis, consciousness fading fast. He heard the scrape of a sword and the limping steps of his enemy's approach, saw those green eyes above him, watched helplessly as the sword swung up.

Then there came a streak of blue as Cloud finally, finally moved to take his finishing blow, just like always.

Cid passed out, dropping into blissful darkness where he didn't have to feel like his entire body was on fire. He fell down, down, down, and landed in a field of flowers to rest a while.

The brown haired woman that came to sit by him was not sweet pea. She settled with her legs folded under her, artfully arranging her pretty blue dress over her knees. Her gaze was distant, taking in the endless blue skies and yellow flowers. The gentle breeze tugged at her hair and the ribbons in it.

"I never got to hold him," Lucrecia said. "My son..."

"Damn shame. Mighta helped."

Cid lay on his back, hands folded under his head. He wondered when sweet pea had installed a skybox to her little dream world. It certainly helped the place feel less uncanny, anyway. He watched fluffy white clouds drift by, amusing himself by identifying them. Cirrus, cumulus, stratus... That one looked like the Highwind, that one a bunny, and over there a place resembling home.

"That girl... she said he won't ever come home. To the planet."

"Prolly not."

"My poor son... I let you get so twisted up by that man." Lucrecia bowed her head, muffling her sobs against the back of her hands.

"Hey, hey." Cid sat up, rubbing stray grass from his hair. "It ain't like ya coulda done more, issit?"

Her shoulders shook, as she struggled to get herself under control. Between sobs, she gasped out, sounding bewildered and hurt, "I... don't _know_. Could I have? I was so busy trying to save Vincent..."

"Iunno how it was back then. Didja really make that choice, sacrificin' yer boy to science?"

"...No, I... You have to _understand_ , Hojo was-- I couldn't..."

"Yeah, sometimes ya get stuck." Cid looked away, thinking of a good woman he'd been horrible to. "Hojo was a goddamn piece of work."

That only seemed to make her cry more, but less hysterically. Cid let her cry it out, even if he felt increasingly uncomfortable. Eventually, the tears dried up and she fell silent, peering sadly out at the flowers as if they hid answers in their petals.

"I want to go back to sleep."

"Ya think that's gonna do any fuckin' good?"

"I don't deserve to live, after all I failed to prevent..."

Cid stood up, dusting his pants off. He gave a bone-popping stretch, then sighed. "Sound a lot like Vincent when he first got outta his coffin. Y'all are numbskulls." He glared down at Lucrecia, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "After all the shit ya lot did in the name of progress, don't ya think ya owe the planet?"

"What could I possibly do to make amends?"

"Iunno, figure it the fuck out. If nothin' else, be awake for Vincent."

"...Oh..." Lucrecia blinked, rapidly. "But... Vincent doesn't need me anymore."

"Ya fuckin' kiddin' right? Everyone needs family."

Fresh tears ran down her face. She shook her head, smiling ruefully, but it wasn't really a denial.

"No wonder... you must have bullied him into trying to live."

"Damn right." Cid thumbed his nose, grinning. "Anyway, if family ain't enough, then if the planet ain't takin' your son in, then ya can bet his ass will keep comin' back. So..."

"...So I should be there to try and reason with him. He might not listen."

"Then keep fuckin' tryin' til he does!"

"Okay. I will. If you'll promise to help me."

"Whatever. If you're Vincent's family, then you're mine, so I gotta put up with yer ass anyway. Might s'well look after ya so ya don't do any more stupid shit."

Her smile was the last thing he saw as the field began to fade away.

He woke to cold white walls and fluorescent lights. Cid opened his eyes, groaned, and rolled over on the hard, flat cot he'd been stuck on. He ached all over, and the arm he'd lain on for too long twinged extra loud. But at least someone had taken the time to put him in some clean clothes.

Everything was a blur of color; he smiled on seeing familiar red hunkered nearby.

"Chief."

"Hey, starshine." His voice cracked, throat tightening. He cleared his throat, to no avail. "Wh--"

Vincent pushed a canteen at him, sloshing the lukewarm water over the brim. With a little help, Cid struggled to sit up, then greedily drank until his belly sloshed as noisily as the canteen. Sighing with relief, he slouched against Vincent's shoulder, eyes drooped closed.

"Where... are we?" he finally managed to ask.

"WRO infirmary."

"Huh. Still in... beach hell?"

Vincent huffed a soft, amused sound, ruffling Cid's hair. "Yes."

"Where's the gang? Lucrecia?"

"Around." Vincent turned his head away, looking out across the room. "They told me I couldn't sit with Lucrecia. She's... in intensive care."

Sitting up on his own took effort, but Cid managed. He looked around the room slowly, hating the vertigo, the stiff aches, the all over discomfort. The room they were in was a large, empty space, taken up by rows and rows of cots. Nurses and doctors scurried about, tending to patients.

Nearby, Cid spotted Nanaki, lying unconscious on bedding on the floor, all wrapped up in bandaging with an IV drip. Tifa sat next to him, petting his mane slowly. Cloud slept on a cot behind her, seemingly uninjured. Next to him, Barret had his reading glasses on while he gingerly picked at a knitting project. His leg was in a cast, strung up.

"The hell I miss?"

"Building collapsed, Chief."

"...Fuck, how long have I been out?"

"Time has no meaning if you're not here to count the days for me."

"Very fuckin' romantic." Cid rolled his eyes, yanking Vincent over to kiss his cheek.

"I thought so."

"But also damn useless. Help me up, we gotta..." His brain stuttered to a halt, caught on the unimportant detail that he didn't know how _long_ he'd been asleep. Frowning, Cid struggled to remember. It was important. "Fuck, what'd she _say_."

Vincent rubbed his fingers along the back of Cid's neck. "Take it easy. Whatever it is, it'll keep."

" _No_ , it fuckin' _won't_."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Cid bent over to put his head between his hands, against his knees. He breathed deep and even, working his way through the Fibonacci sequence until his thoughts cleared. All the while, Vincent sat silent, hand resting between Cid’s shoulder blades.

“...We gotta… see Lucrecia. She needs, fuck, what does she need? The cave. We gotta take her there.”

“...Why?” Vincent’s voice was soft and wary, fingers curling against Cid’s back. “What do you intend?”

Cid sat back up, looking Vincent square in the eye. “I _intend_ to save her goddamn life. Ya gonna help me or not?”

Wordless, Vincent hooked his arm around Cid's middle and hauled him up to his feet. Then stood there, acting as support, until Cid's vertigo passed and he could walk mostly unassisted. Vincent walked half a step ahead, showing the way but staying close. Tifa made a questioning noise, watching them go.

They left the room, entering a long hallway lined with private rooms. Every one was occupied, sometimes crammed tight with too many beds. Frantic nurses bustled about, narrowly dodging around Cid and Vincent. More than one shot reprimands along the lines of, "You shouldn't get in the way!"

"What a fuckarow," Cid grumbled.

Even the lobby at the end of the hall was packed with people. Mostly families that couldn't yet see their loved ones, huddled over coffees in chairs, on the floors, and against the walls. WRO agents hauled supplies in, dealt with distraught visitors, or ran miscellaneous errands for the medical teams. Yuffie was in the thick of it, shouting directions and pointing from atop a step stool. She saw Cid and Vincent and waved, beaming, but went straight back to work.

Cid slowed, overwhelmed by the hubbub and cacophony of noise. He gave a little start, smiling weakly, when Vincent nudged him along. His gaze dropped to Vincent's prosthetic arm, noting how the other man left it hanging limp and motionless. The metal was dented, badly. Later, Cid meant to ask about it. Later, when a life wasn't on the line.

They entered a hall full of too many people, too many filled beds. At the end of that one, they turned right, entering into a smaller, quieter waiting room, curiously empty. A sign over a set of double doors by a nurse's station indicated that they'd reached the ICU. A smaller one on the counter of the nurse's station suggested that they should ring a bell and wait to be let in.

"Fuck that," Cid muttered, and shoved the ICU doors open.

The rooms on the other side were quiet, occupied by only one patient each. Most of those patients could not live without the softly beeping machines keeping them going. Only a few nurses patrolled the area, focused on applying emergency Cures and Heals only if a patient began to fade fast. Still, getting caught would probably get them thrown out.

Vincent pulled Cid against his side, throwing his cape around them. "You may wish to close your eyes for this," he advised, softly.

Torn between wanting to see what was going to happen and trusting in Vincent, Cid pressed his face against the other man's shoulder. A queer crawling sensation crept over his limbs, numbing like they'd all fallen asleep at once. Then it felt like being sucked down through an icy whirlwind, his parts flung every which way as if they were no longer solid, no longer connected to each other. They zigged and zagged, lurching and zooming down the hall, over the startled shouts of nurses, between the slats of a grate leading into the ventilation system.

A high powered fan gave him the terrifying sensation of half of his self blowing off the wrong way until Vincent pulled him back. They slid out of the vents a moment later, jerking to a halt on solid ground. Weight pushed down on Cid as he became solid again, and he would have fallen if not for Vincent keeping him upright. The numb tingling faded in waves, but lingered in his hands and feet, making him shake them out, uselessly.

"Woah, fuck! Hell of a ride!"

The nurse standing over Lucrecia's bed took one look at them and fainted dead away. Cid blinked down at her, scratching at the back of his head.

"Uh..."

Vincent stepped over the nurse to gaze sadly at Lucrecia. He rested his hand at the edge of the bed, not touching her. Her face was ghastly pale and sunken; she likely only lived because machines kept her going.

"It... doesn't look like she'll be going anywhere, Chief."

"Ah, hell."

Cid went to the other side of the bed, leaning on the railing to squint at the various screens around her head. Numbers and jagged lines and things he only half understood, if only because he'd watched too many hospital dramas. The only fact he gleaned was that Lucrecia's chances were slim.

"Fuck, this is outta my league," Cid groaned, dragging his hands through his hair. "But I'm not... I can't fuckin' give up here."

"Why not? She means nothing to you."

"What the fuck. She's yer girl, Vince!"

Red eyes studied him, then looked away. "She was never really mine."

"Don't fuckin' matter. Yer all she's got left, right? And don't try to pretend losin' her wouldn't hurt like hell."

"I have... resigned myself to it."

"Shove that up yer ass, then. How far can ya do the freaky teleport thing?"

Vincent lifted his head, brows furrowing. "...Do you really think she will live if I take her anywhere else?"

"Iunno, but she's definitely gonna die here if we leave her hooked to these damn machines."

"The cave... You want me to take her to the cave. And then what?"

"Can't fuckin' say. She said... uhh. That half of her was still there, I think. Take her home, starshine, put her back together."

"I can't take two passengers at once, Chief."

"Nah-uh." Cid shook his head because he'd expected that. "I'll catch up to ya later."

Vincent looked between Cid and Lucrecia and the screens showing her vital signs. He inhaled slow and deep, then let the breath out, closing his eyes.

"This plan is too reckless, but... Alright, Chief. Help me get her unhooked."

Together, they freed her from the machines. Getting the breathing tube out was the worst part, until the heart-stopping moment when it seemed she wouldn't breathe on her own. Somehow, she managed short, weak gasps. Vincent gathered her gingerly in his arms, awkward because his prosthetic barely bent, the hand not functioning at all.

"Open a window and pull the cape around her, please."

Cid threw the window open, then came over to grab the edge of the cape, throwing it over her. He looked into Vincent's face, smiling as bravely as he could, and watched them flow away in a swirl of red. They darted out the window, into the cold, starry night, sailing west and south.

With a heavy heart, Cid went to wake the nurse so she could escort his ass back to his bed. He wouldn't be able to follow Vincent until he'd recovered enough to get a plane in the air.


	43. marching to the rhythm

The WRO politely asked Cid and Cloud to vacate their cots in the morning. Together, with Tifa between them, they went out into the sunny, humid afternoon. Cid stood on the sidewalk, blinking until his eyes adjusted.

The skyline looked odd without the lighthouse. In the aftermath, it collapsed. As had much of the area surrounding it, taking out a chunk of the docks, some of the nearby inns, and even part of the breakwaters.

Most of Costa del Sol was without power, now that it couldn't rely on a secret mako reactor. The WRO had generators running at full capacity in the interest of saving the lives of survivors--not just their own people, but a surprisingly large number of the Luz Vuelve. Barret, the big softy, had been shooting to incapacitate, not kill, and a majority of the workers involved in the operation had still been down in the dome, keeping the reactor from going nuclear when the tunnels collapsed.

Last night, he'd found Mandy and Aaròn in the infirmary. He'd been pleased to see they survived, even if the old guy was weird as fuck. They'd been dumb as hell to sign on to an operation bent on killing the planet, but they were just ordinary people looking for work. It was hard to hold a grudge.

"You okay?" Tifa asked.

Cid looked down at her, the corners of his mouth twitching up. "Sure fuckin' hope so. Gotta find Vince first."

"Yeah... You two are really bad at the whole "don't get separated" thing, you know that?"

"Gimme a damn break. Least this time it was for some damn sappy reason."

She laughed at him, shaking her head, and Cloud rolled his eyes, smiling as he started to walk away, leaving them to catch up.

"Yuffie said to meet her at the fishbread store? I hope you know what that means..."

"Yeah-huh, c'mon."

Cid showed them to the inn nestled between the bakery and the fish store. It seemed like forever since he last saw it. Yuffie waited in the lobby, sprawled on a couch with her feet propped on the arm. Their bags lay stacked in a heap on the nearby table. She fiddled with her phone until she saw them enter, then rolled off the couch to land on her feet.

"Ciiiid!" She flung herself at him, forcing him to catch her. "I'm so glad you didn't get flattened!"

"Ya and me both."

She puffed her cheeks up. "You let Vinny run off again though! I hope you know where he went."

"Only kinda." Gently, Cid set her down on her feet, letting her go after one last pat on the shoulder.

"Do you want us to help you search, Cid?" Cloud asked, leaning against the arm of the couch.

"Nah-uh, y'all oughta get home and say howdy to the kiddos for us."

"Hmmm, okay, if you're sure." Tifa bent towards him, hands folded behind her back. "You better call us if you can't find Vincent. Don't be like Reeve."

"Hah, no fuckin' way." Cid grinned, striking a pose with his hands on his hips. "I don't find his skinny ass by tomorrow, we'll go huntin' his ass down all together."

Cloud nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Okay, take care of the Captain for us, Yuffie."

Tifa straightened, holding her hand out to the younger woman. Yuffie clapped both hands around Tifa's, giving an enthusiastic shake.

"No problem!" 

She released Tifa, waving as the pair left, presumably to head home. Then she spun towards their bags, digging through Cid's, and presented his dog tags, red ribbon, and cellphone. Cid stared, and then grinned, accepting the items in fingers that were most definitely steady. The faint tremor was imagined. He donned the tags, tied the ribbon in its customary place on his arm, and tried the phone's power button.

"Hey, it ain't dead. Ya charge it or somethin'?"

"Of course. It's not like you were around to do it."

"Wouldna remembered anyhow."

"'Getting senile, Captain? Maybe I shouldn't have asked Reeve to lend us a plane!"

"I'll be 98 and pissin' my drawers before I can't fly, brat."

"Ewww!"

In a fit of dramatics, she fled for the bathrooms, giving Cid relative privacy to go through his contacts list. The first number he tried was Vincent's, but as expected, there was no answer. All of his friends came out to Costa del Sol to help, all but Shera, so she was the next number. She didn't answer her work or cell numbers. With little hope for a different result, he tried the landline at her house.

After the third ring, she picked up, sounding breathless. "Hello, this is Shera. Who's calling?"

"Hey, you."

"Cid! Oh, Gaia, I'm so glad to hear from you."

"Things went south again. Just got outta the hospital."

"Were you hurt?"

"Nah, nothin' serious."

"Oh, good. Vincent hasn't told me much."

Cid gripped his cellphone tight, feeling the heavy duty case creak. "Ya seen him?!"

"He's here, do you want to talk to him??"

" _Please_."

"Okay, okay, let me see if I can get him to cooperate..."

Her voice faded off, followed by the click of the headset being set down. He strained to listen, hearing her footsteps growing distant, the faint creak of stairs, and then her muffled voice. His heart pounded as he waited, breath held until spots danced in front of his vision, reminding him to _breathe_.

Soon enough, the voice he most wanted to hear came on the line. "Chief."

"Hey. Did she make it?"

"Yes."

"Fuuuck." Cid sank onto the couch, pushing his free hand through his hair. "I'm so damn glad."

"She'd like to see you."

"What 'bout ya, starshine?"

"Come home."

Yuffie came out of the bathroom, hesitating near the door until Cid waved her over.

"Yeah, shit, I'm gettin' a plane. Gonna be there quick as I can."

"Good."

“Hey, starshine?”

“Yes?”

“Where’s yer phone?”

“...Ah.” Vincent hung up, evading both the question and the need for stumbling through farewells.

Cid chortled, dropping the hand holding his phone into his lap. He needed only to wait a minute or two more before his phone rang again. He answered with, “Yeah?”

“Sorry, Captain,” Shera said. “He’s not telling me anything. When should we expect you in?”

“Gonna try my damnedest for tonight, but Iunno what kinda piece of shit Reeve’s gonna lend me.”

Yuffie flopped her hands at Cid, drawing his attention. “We could go get _your_ piece of shit, Captain!”

“Oh, hey, fuck yeah. I gotta get a move on, Shera. Makin’ a stop in North Corel.”

“Okay.” Shera hummed, thoughtful. “Make sure to keep us updated, Captain.”

“Sure thing.”

“See you soon.”

After hanging up, Cid realized he had one other task to do before he could go home. He stood, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “We goin’ back over to the WRO base?”

“Yep! I called a cab, if that’s okay… Vinny’s bag weighs a _ton_.”

“Fine with me, it's fuckin’ hot out. Can't breathe worth a damn here.” Cid tugged at the collar of his shirt, flapping it rapidly. The interior of the inn was nice and shady but horribly stuffy.

“Yeahhh. I miss air conditioning already…” Sighing longingly, Yuffie gazed out the windows. “Oh, hey, there's our ride!”

"'Bout fuckin' time."

Grabbing his bag, Cid slung it over his shoulder, resting it against his back. Then he took Vincent's in both hands. It wasn't as heavy as he thought, but it still made him grunt with effort hauling it out to the cab.

"Holy fuck, kiddo, how the hell ya been haulin' this sucker 'round on ya lonesome?"

Yuffie laughed at him, throwing her bag into the trunk of the cab. She flexed her skinny little arm, winking. "Ancient Wutai secret!"

After they'd piled into the back of the cab and the driver got the car rolling, Cid nudged Yuffie with his elbow. "Ya comin' with me?"

"Well, yeah! I wanted to stop in to check on Vinny on my way home. I've got stupid princess stuff to deal with."

“Try not to barf this time.”

“I didn’t _last_ time, you jerk!”

The cab dropped them off at the WRO base, and Yuffie immediately corralled a couple of agents to carry their bags out to the airstrip. Cid headed back to the infirmary, not protesting when Yuffie fell in step at his left. If nothing else, her boisterous personality and higher rank within the WRO meant everyone stayed out of their way. Even the nurses that looked like they wanted to object to visitors seemed to think better of it.

Cid made a beeline for the corner where Mandy, Aaròn, and other workers rested on cots. He stood at the end of Mandy's bed, hands in his pockets. She eyed him warily over the top of a dog eared magazine, likely filched from one of the waiting rooms. The contents-- better homes-- didn't seem like her usual reading material.

"What are you doing back here?"

"Makin' my farewells."

"Yeah? Bye, Mitchell." She dropped her gaze to the magazine.

"My name ain't Mitchell."

That gave her pause. Mandy frowned at him, jaw working. "Well now. I figured you were more than a no name newbie, what with the WRO showing up and all, but go on, enlighten me as to why your name ought to matter to me."

"I'm Cid Highwind, the best goddamn pilot in the world, and the first man in space." He jerked his thumb towards Yuffie. "That's Yuffie Kisaragi, princess of Wutai."

"Hi." Yuffie waggled her fingers, smiling.

Aaròn, pretending to sleep until then, opened one eye, squirming over to the edge of his bed with one ear turned towards the conversation. Mandy, still staring at Cid and Yuffie with growing bafflement, rolled her magazine up and used it to thwap Aaròn. He jerked upright, swearing and rubbing at the spot she'd hit.

"We're in the presence of actual royalty and war heroes, man!" Mandy wagged the magazine, pointing it at Cid and Yuffie. "Don't know what the hell they want with us, but..."

"Came to offer y'all a job. Once you're done servin' yer time, come to Rocket Town. Bring yer well-behaved friends. Highwind Enterprises is always lookin' for skilled hands."

"Are ya serious?" Aaròn wondered, scratching at the scruff on his chin. "Don't seem much point, home's right here..."

Cid shrugged a shoulder. "Sure, sure, I ain't gonna force y'all." He made a show of looking around, taking in all the injured bodies still occupying the cots. "I imagine yer lady'd like to see some friendly faces."

"...Levinia?" Mandy whispered.

"Mhm. Her name's actually Lucrecia, uhh, shit, Yuffie, d'yanno her last name? Vincent’s girl?"

"Crescent."

"...Oh." Cid blinked, realization slotting in place. "Yeah, so, I got her outta there."

"I'll come," Mandy said. "When my time's up. She was always good to me."

"Yeah, same." Aaròn bobbed his head, with a gap-toothed smile. "I dunno 'bout high-tailin' off fer good, but more'n a few of us'll rest easier seein' her hale 'n whole."

"Good. See ya later."

Cid have a jaunty salute, then walked away. Yuffie imitated him, grinning with mischief. He made a stop by Barret's bed, jostling him out of his doze. Barret came awake with a snort and glowered.

"Oi, they leavin' ya stranded here?" Cid asked.

"Aw, naw. Teef 'n Spike're gonna pick me up later when they's got a ride to Edge."

"Good deal. Me and Yuffie are headin' out, so we'll catch ya later."

Barret nodded, smiling, and lifted his flesh hand. They slapped their palms together, withdrew, then bumped knuckles. Yuffie would not accept only a handshake, but insisted on hugging.

"Don't take too long getting better!" she said, flicking his nose.

"Yeah, yeah, shit, g'wan." Barret swatted at her. “Damn punks, I’ll be up to kickin’ yer asses before yanno it.”

Laughing, Cid and Yuffie headed off to the airstrip. An agent escorted them to the plane, which already sat at the end of the tarmac, ready to go. Reeve stood under the wing, Cait Sith in his arms.

"Well, well. Cid Highwind…”

“Ain’t that fuckin’ cat s’posed to be watchin’ my goddamn plane!?”

Reeve looked down at Cait Sith, as though just now realizing the cat was in his arms. “Oh. Don’t worry, there are agents standing guard.”

“Fuckin’ better be.” Cid scratched at the side of his jaw, glaring. 

“I never got the chance to thank you and Vincent for your help," Reeve said, changing the subject.

"...Neither one of us much for ceremony and shit."

"Hey, what about all _my_ help?" Yuffie demanded, hands on her hips.

"I already gave you your due rewards."

"But not a formal thanks in front of a crowd!! How do you expect the world to learn of my greatness if you're trying to keep your greatest weapon under wraps??"

"I assumed your reputation was such that it preceded you," Reeve said, smirking. "If I could borrow Cid for a moment...?"

"Ugh, fine, you're still boring." Yuffie smacked Cid on the arm. "Don't take too long!" 

Then she bounced onto the plane, leaving Cid and Reeve alone. They looked at each other for a long moment. Cid shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, curling his right hand into a fist inside his pocket.

Reeve scratched the back of Cait Sith’s head, and it squinted its eyes closed, leaning into the touch like a real cat. “The WRO should be able to clean up the remaining drill sites. We will work with the locals to bring Gongaga and Costa del Sol back to Green standard.”

“Fuckin’ better. Damn disgraceful, shittin’ all over the planet after we worked so hard to get shit fixed.”

"Yes. I would like to see you two at the press conferences, but I understand that neither of you are ones for publicity."

"Damn right we're not.” Cid spat a thick glob of spit and snot on the tarmac between them. “I'm goin' the hell home, Reeve. Don't come lookin' for us to do no more jobs for ya."

"I understand." Reeve sighed, deep and sad, casting his gaze on the distant horizon over Cid's shoulder. "I hope you will consider assisting us again when you have sufficiently recovered...?"

"We'll fuckin' see."

"Good! I won't keep you any longer." Reeve stuck his hand out. “On behalf of the WRO, and as your friend, thank you, Cid, and safe journey.”

Cid clapped his hand into Reeve’s, shaking firmly enough to nearly make him drop Cait. “See ya ‘round.”

“Send Vincent my regards.”

“He lost his goddamn phone again, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Ah, of course he did…”

As Cid climbed into the plane, Reeve sighed, shaking his head as he headed back to the base. The plane was just a little two-seater, and Yuffie was already strapped into the co-pilot’s seat, headphones and paper bag firmly in place. Cid secured the door behind him, then clambered into the pilot’s seat to begin priming the engines.

“Ya ready to go, girly?”

Yuffie gave him a wobbly smile and two thumbs up. 

Trusting that she wouldn't _immediately_ barf all over all of the delicate controls, Cid guided the little plane down the runway, picking up speed. When he pulled back on the yoke, taking to the air, Yuffie made a soft, "Eep," noise, shrinking into her seat, face buried in the paper bag.

Even in a smaller, slower plane, the flight to North Corel took no time at all. They touched down in the dinky little airport, surprising Andy and Jamie both, since Cid didn't bother hailing ahead of time. Didn't seem like they'd answer anyway, since they'd been up to their elbows in one of their little planes.

Andy came running up the minute the engines died down, holding her hat to her head. She waited until Cid hopped out of the plane before shouting, "Oh, hey, it's y'all! Have a nice trip?"

"Could fuckin' say that, I guess." Cid thumbed his nose, watching Yuffie tumble out of the plane. "Headin' home now."

"Sure, but whatcha ya want us to do with this'n?"

"It's yours, Cid," Yuffie wheezed, doubled over her knees. “Reeve thought you wouldn’t want to, uhhh-- I hate flying _so much_ \--deal with returning it.”

"Y'all look like ya down a plane," Cid observed, gazing towards the broken down heap that Jamie continued to pick at. "Help me get our shit moved to the _Last_ , and this thing's all yours."

"Holy chocobo, really?!"

Shifting their luggage to the _Last_ was hardly a task worthy of an entire plane, but Cid figured North Corel needed all the help it could get. He clapped Andy on the shoulder, waving off her fretful concern that he might change his mind.

"Listen, y'all oughta get in touch with Highwind Enterprises in Rocket Town, okay? I'll put a good word in with Shera, she'll be glad to help y'all out."

"Aww, you're being super _nice_ again, Cid!" Yuffie needled, poking him in the side while grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off into the plane, ya brat."

"She keeps callin' ya Cid..." Andy frowned, rubbing at the side of her neck as she mulled it over. Comprehension dawned slowly. Her eyes widened comically as she recoiled, mouth agape. "You're... Ya ain't _the_ Captain Cid Highwind, are ya?!"

Cid clapped her on the shoulder, beaming. "Sure the fuck am. Y'all did the WRO a solid lookin' after the _Last_."

"Oh maaaaan..."

"Ya take care now, huh? Does the heart real fuckin' good to see this goddamn valley gettin' green."

"Yes, sir! Have a safe flight, Captain!" Andy saluted, then ran to get the little plane off the runway, shouting at Jamie all the while in her excitement.

As Reeve promised, there were WRO agents standing guard. Or, more accurately, two agents sat on wooden crates, playing a game of cards in the shade offered by the _Last_ ’s wings. On spotting Cid and Yuffie, they stood, saluting.

“Good job, guys!” Yuffie said. She threw her fist into the air. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the agents chorused.

They gathered up their things and got out of the way, while Andy and Jamie loaded the _Last_ up, and Cid and Yuffie got settled inside.

As soon as the runway was clear, Cid got the _Last_ into the air, eager to get home as fast as possible. Instead of coming up to the cockpit, Yuffie stayed in the cargo hold for the last leg of the journey to Rocket Town. That left Cid to keep himself occupied through the long flight. He sang snatches of songs as they came to him and he watched the landscape drift by below, admiring the natural beauty of the planet and those fledgling towns that didn't try to change it so much as enhance it.

Maybe the widespread news of the Luz Vuelve's inevitable destruction would ward others off from trying to repeat the same mistakes. Then again, maybe not. Humans were goddamn stupid like that.

Not Cid's problem anymore, he figured. All he had to worry about was getting home safely to see his family, blood and found alike.

They made good time, arriving in Rocket Town just as the sun set. Air control hailed him enthusiastically, shouting, "Welcome home, Captain!" as they cleared him for landing. A crew swept in almost before the plane came to a complete stop, unloading their cargo into the back of his truck-- including all the shit they’d left in the plane before going into Costa del Sol. 

"Ya gonna come with to Shera's?" he asked Yuffie, once she'd recovered enough for civilized conversation.

"No, I'm _super_ tired. I'd love a ride to the inn." Yuffie glanced at the truck, then back at him, head tilted. "I'll visit in the morning before I leave!"

"Alright, hop in."

Cid dropped her off at the inn and saw her safely inside before driving off. The short ride to Shera's seemed to take forever. He rolled the window down, letting the frigid wind ruffle his hair, feeling glad for the dryness. He was done with balmy weather for a while and looked forward to the first snows.

Warm lights shone from Shera's windows as he pulled up. Before he even finished getting out of the truck, a dark shadow filled one on the upper floor. Cid lifted his hand, waving, and got a jerky, uncertain wave back.

Grinning, his heart swelling, Cid grabbed just the two main bags and dragged them up to the door. Shera opened it right as he reached it.

"Hello, Captain," she said, opening the door fully and moving aside to let him in. "I hope you're prepared to stay here tonight. Vincent hasn't left Lucrecia's side since they got here..."

"If it's fine with ya, then I'll earn my keep, fatten ya up with all the breakfast ya could ever ask for."

She smiled, hands up for a hug, which he gladly gave. "Welcome home."

"Thanks, Shera."

Shera let him go in order to shut and lock the door, then turned on him, hands on her hips. "Well, go on!"

Huffing a low laugh, Cid gathered the bags and hauled them upstairs. His heart thudded hard with every step, giddy and anxious. The person he most wanted to see leaned in the doorway of one of the guest rooms, watching him with too red eyes.

"Hey, starshine." Cid dropped the bags at his feet. "Miss me?"

"Like none other, Chief," Vincent said.

They met halfway; Vincent’s hand settled against the middle of Cid’s back, and Cid wrapped Vincent up in a crushing hug like he’d never let go.


	44. of a lonesome defeat

When Vincent pulled away, Cid noticed he was fairly dressed down. No cape, no glove, no boots, minimal belts. The gun was strapped to his leg, of course, because even in the safety of Shera's house, Vincent wasn't going to let his guard down. He had his hair tied back, though, daring to let the world see his pale face with all the subtle nuances of expression, like how his eyes squinted not out of annoyance but happiness.

"How's success treatin' ya this time, starshine?"

"A sight better than becoming fireworks… or accidentally setting them off," Vincent admitted.

“Hey! Wasn't my damn fault Barret hid the damn things in the bushes.”

Vincent ducked his head, hiding what was probably a smile behind thick bangs. His shoulders shook with silent mirth. Cid grinned, recalling the fond memory of the botched surprise party for Reeve’s last birthday.

“Naw, but seriously, a lot’s changed, ya doin’ okay with it?”

"I... keep expecting to wake and find this is but a dream..."

Tentatively, Vincent touched his fingertips against the dog tags around Cid’s neck, hanging in plain sight for the first time in too long. Cid laid his hand over Vincent's, squeezing gently. That squinty look came back.

"Guess the reminder's workin' like it's s'posed to."

"They helped, but were no replacement for your crass brand of assistance."

"Should fuckin' hope not, otherwise ya might take off and find some damp cave to set yer damn coffin in and sleep for another thirty years, just to get away from my noisy ass."

"You should get that looked at, Chief."

"Ahh, fuck off, you cheeky shit."

A noise from the other guest room drew Vincent's attention. He glanced at Cid, inclining his head, then went to knock on the door with his flesh hand. The dented metal gauntlet hung useless at Vincent's side, untouched since they'd last met up. Cid eyed it, still determined to do something about it later, when Vincent let him.

A muffled voice from the other side of the door called, "Come in."

Vincent pushed the door open, then stepped in, drifting around to one side of the bed. Cid followed a little more slowly, hesitant to be intruding. Propped up on a number of pillows, with an IV drip secured to her arm and an ultra thin laptop on a tray above her lap, Lucrecia watched them enter. She looked drawn and tired, but _alive_.

"Oh... Sorry, Vincent, I... I knocked things over."

She smiled sheepishly, watching as he knelt to pick a water bottle and some pill bottles up, starting to return them to their place on the bedside table. When she reached, pointing at the water, he set the bottle on the tray, using the surface to give him enough leverage to open it for her.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking a few small sips.

"Looks like ya made it in one piece, lady," Cid observed, leaning in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

After fussily closing the bottle back up and letting Vincent put it aside, she beamed at Cid. "You, too."

"Wasn't nothin' gonna keep me down."

"So it seems..." Still smiling, Lucrecia motioned towards the stool next to the bed. "Will you sit, and talk with me for a little while?"

"Yeah, sure."

Cid ambled over, taking the stool, and braced his elbows on his knees, leaning towards her. The laptop screen showed a paused video, the synopsis naming it _The Rise and Fall of ShinRa_. Lucrecia noticed him looking and shook her head a little ruefully.

"I've got a lot to catch up on. I don't know how Vincent managed..."

"Are ya _kiddin'_?" Cid laughed, watching Vincent stray around to the other side of the bed, perching primly on the edge of an armchair, which had been dragged away from the window. "Guy still livin' in the dark ages."

"Oh dear..." Lucrecia peered at Vincent, worrying at her bottom lip. "Are you... really okay with this? Existing despite everything?"

"My technological distress does not indicate dissatisfaction with life, Lucrecia," Vincent answered. "It just means I've been letting Cid do all the work. Much less effort that way."

"Hey, what the fuck, man, ya've killed more kitchen appliances than I can afford, and ya tellin' me ya doin' it on _purpose_?!"

Vincent met Cid's gaze, doing a slow, cat-like blink, then turned his head away. Cid sputtered, dragging a hand down his face. He muttered under his breath, "Fuckin' technological distress... I'll distress ya with a boot up yer _ass_."

Meanwhile, Lucrecia blinked at the pair of them and soon buried her face in her hands, giggling softly. The laughter gave away to coughing, unfortunately, which prompted Vincent to stand and crowd at the edge of the bed, unable to do anything but wait it out. Cid offered the bottled water once the fit passed, giving away to raspy breaths.

"Ah... sorry," she mumbled, taking several gulps of water. She made a shooing motion at Vincent until he took his seat again. "I've caught a cold, since I lost most of my J cells..."

"Least ya don't gotta deal with that bullshit no more."

"There is that." Lucrecia nodded, slanting her eyes towards him. A ring of green in the center of brown glowed still, but the cat-like pupils were gone. "Vincent tells me that after my son, ShinRa tried to make others. SOLDIER... I suppose I would make a fine candidate."

"Pssht, if Shinra starts that shit up again, I'm gonna go kick his goddamn head in."

"It's so strange... The Turks still exist? And there's still _a_ Shinra, but the company is gone..."

Cid grunted, watching her sink back into the pillows, expression faraway and thoughtful. Like Vincent, she'd been asleep for more than thirty years. The sheer amount of time she'd lost was unfathomable for Cid. He couldn't imagine trying to process it all, and not for the first time marveled at their resilience.

"Vincent... won't let me fix his arm," Lucrecia suddenly said, fixing her gaze on Cid. "And he hasn't gone outside since we got here."

"Hah. He don't fuckin' go out 'less he's gotta or someone kicks his ass out into the sun."

"Hmm... would you look after him? I know I've already taken so much more than I deserve, needing to be saved so many times..."

"Ah, hell--"

"Lucrecia," Vincent said. He shook his head slightly. "You saved my life, once. I was only returning the favor. And..." He looked across the bed, studying Cid for a long moment. "...Still existing isn't such a terrible nightmare." Gazing down at Lucrecia, he laid his flesh hand on the bed, fingertips barely touching her arm. "Lucrecia... Thank you."

"Yeah, fuck, I helped without knowin' shit, but if yer who I got to thank for Vince bein' 'round, then there ain't much I can do to repay ya." Cid patted at her hand awkwardly. "Don't worry none 'bout Vince, alright, I'm always gonna look out for him."

Tears welled up in Lucrecia's eyes, but she was smiling. "You two..." Swiping the wetness away, she laughed sheepishly. "I'm such a mess! But... I'm really happy you've found such a good friend, Vincent."

Judging by the way Vincent averted his eyes, lips thinning out, he hadn't told her that they were more than friends. Cid recalled that Vincent had told him that things were different back then, and had to bite back the urge to snap. He pushed off from his knees, standing and clearing his throat.

"It's been a long fuckin' day and ya look like ya need the rest. I'm gonna get outta ya hair."

"Alright... Have a good night, Cid."

"Ya, too."

He left quickly, shutting the door as softly as possible behind him. Then he shoved his fists deep in his pockets, crossing the hall to stand over the bags indecisively. Since waking up in the WRO infirmary, he'd gone without a cigarette and the desire for one punched him low in the gut, pushing bile up the back of his throat. In his haste to get back, he'd never stopped to pick any up, and Shera wasn't likely to have any lying around.

"Damn it," Cid muttered.

"Something the matter, Cid?" Vincent asked, right behind him.

Cid jumped and whirled, heart in his throat. He almost smacked Vincent upside the head in his comical flailing and almost fell back on his ass for losing his footing, but the other man caught him by the wrist, steadying him.

"God _damn_ it, warn a guy!"

"Sorry." Vincent released him, looking away. "You... left very suddenly."

"Think ya fuckin' know why."

"This is because I haven't told her, isn't it?"

"No shit? What's that about, huh?"

"It's too soon."

"What?"

"She's ill, Highwind, and will be struggling through culture shock. Why should I tell her now? It will only add to her suffering, to know that I am..."

Maybe Cid could have gotten his emotions under control and put up with being a badly kept secret, if only Vincent hadn't looked down and away. If only Vincent hadn't looked _ashamed_ , like admitting that he fancied a guy to anyone from his past was too much to bear.

"Oh, fuck off."

Cid shoved past Vincent, stomping downstairs. Shera gave him a jumpy, hunted look from the couch, a spoonful of ice cream frozen halfway to her mouth. He felt bad for spooking her, but didn't slow for apologies, slamming out the front door and into the cold night. The chill raised goosebumps on his skin, got under his shirt and cut through his pants. Before, it soothed him. Now, it only added to his frustration.

He got into the truck, starting it up, and peeled out of the driveway. Just as he rolled out onto the road, he glanced at the rearview mirror to see Vincent standing in the doorway of the house. It was too dark to see Vincent's expression, and his temper snarled through him too loudly to turn back.

With nothing but the radio blasting staticky classics for company, Cid sped off towards the convenience store on main. He pulled in too fast, nearly ran over the speed bump and onto the sidewalk, and then got out, banging his door shut.

The inside of the store was too bright and washed out, with a faint, constant buzzing noise in the background. The gangly teenaged clerk behind the counter glanced at him worriedly, but soon went back to staring blankly at the tiny black and white television they had beside the register. Cid stalked through the aisles, hunting down a case of beer and some jerky. He slammed both down on the counter a little too hard, making the clerk jump.

"Pack of Lady Lucks," Cid growled, snagging a lighter from a nearby display case to add it to the pile.

"S-sure, sir."

The clerk rang him up, and then let out a noisy breath of relief when Cid stormed right out of the store with his purchases.

Cid threw it all into the truck and drove off towards the rusting rocket supports out on the edge of town. As he drove, he ripped the package of cigs open, shoved one into his mouth, and lit up. The sweet hit of nicotine softened the edges of his anger, letting shame creep in. That only made him mad at himself, though, and he let out a stream of curses, turning the radio up.

Honestly, Cid should have expected that Vincent wouldn't wait quietly at home for him to cool down.

As the road gave away to dirt, curving gently between overgrown grass and low-lying shrubs, Cid heard something like the flap of bird's wings. Then something heavy slammed into the cab of the truck, denting the roof.

"Fuck!!"

Cid jerked on the wheel, swerving off the road. The truck hit thick cabling, front wheels lifting off the ground and slamming down hard enough to make him smack his head. Frantically, Cid spun the wheel, trying to get back under control and narrowly missed slamming into a rusty metal ramp. He slammed the brakes just before hitting one of the support beams.

Something very red rolled off the roof, cracking the windshield. Red eyes blazed in the dark, furious and wild, right before Vincent skidded off the hood and hit the ground between the truck and the beam.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, holy shit, fuck," Cid threw himself out of the truck and raced over to the heap of red cloth, dropping to his knees.

Vincent lay flat on his back, glaring. "...Reckless, Highwind."

" _I'm_ fuckin' reckless?! I'm not the one that fuckin' _jumped on a goddamn fuckin' movin' truck_!! Holy shit, I could've-- Fuck, tell me you're okay!"

"Lamentably, only my pride is dead."

Cid sat back on his butt, thunking his head against the hot grille, feeling the engine rumbling through his skull. The anger blew out of him all at once, leaving behind shaking relief and exasperation. "You dumb asshole..."

"I'm not the one that went running off into the night to have a tantrum." Vincent got up, gingerly dusting himself off. He shook his cape out, snapping it as he stared down his nose at Cid. "Our conversation was not finished."

Closing both eyes, Cid made himself breathe. In, out, deep and slow and calming. It didn't help much. His heart still thundered, blood crackling beneath his skin. He still wanted to snap and snarl and swear and kick things, even as he wanted to yank Vincent down and kiss him stupid just to be sure he wasn't hurt by that stunt.

"...Sure as fuck was," Cid finally managed, opening one eye. "I ain't in no right of mind to be goddamn reasonable."

"Ah."

With a slight shift on his heels, Vincent turned his head to gaze up at the rusty supports. He said nothing else, standing statue still.

Cid pushed himself to his feet and walked around on wobbly legs to snap the truck engine and lights off. He hunted around for the lighter and cigarettes, finding one under the seat and the other thrown to the far side of the cab. The still smoking butt burned a hole in the flooring. He stubbed it out in the ashtray, abandoning it in favor of a new cigarette. Then he collected his purchases and leaned out of the truck to slam the door shut.

"Got beer," Cid muttered, holding up the plastic bag. "I'm goin' up. Ya ain't givin' me space to sulk, so ya might s'well c'mon up and make sure I don't fall the fuck off."

"I might as well," Vincent agreed.

Together, they walked around the base of the support beams, picking their way through overgrown weeds. The moon was small but silver bright, putting out enough light that their shadows stretched out before them. He never would get used to being able to see in the dark.

Somehow, the ladder hadn't rusted to pieces in the last few years. The walkway that once connected to the rocket was still there, too. Cid settled on the edge, legs dangling, and peered down at the launch pad contemplatively.

Vincent eased down next to him, shifting the limp metal arm into his lap. "Were you anyone else, I might suspect you of suicidal ideation."

"Nah, fuck that."

Cid pulled two beers out of the case, twisting the caps off. He gave one to Vincent, then took several deep gulps of his own, belching into the silent night.

"This stuff is vile," Vincent commented, after a while. He did not stop drinking it. "Give me a smoke."

Laughing, Cid passed over his half-finished cigarette. "Sorry, starshine, I didn't plan for company, so none of your fancy ass wine."

Vincent stuck his beer between his legs in order to take it. The cherry at the end glowed bright as he took several pulls from it, as though the ashy nicotine could possibly wash away the taste of cheap beer. Out of spite, Vincent blew smoke in Cid's face. That just made him laugh more.

"I'm glad you enjoy my suffering so."

"Nah-uh, ain't real sufferin' so it don't count." Cid jostled his shoulder against Vincent's. "Gimme that arm of yours, lemme see how fucked it is."

"In the dark?"

"Why the fuck not, got built in lamps now."

With another exhale of curling smoke, Vincent hefted the arm, levering it from his own lap into Cid's. Cid caught it in both hands and startled at how leaden it was once Vincent relaxed, letting it hang limp.

"Shit, Vince, this thing's heavy as hell."

"Yes."

"Ain't ya ever thought 'bout gettin' somethin' better? Yer back's gotta be all fucked up from this..."

Vincent pulled his arm away, expression becoming guarded and wary. He tucked his chin into his mantle. Cid could feel the distance growing between them but couldn't seem to shut his mouth.

"Why ya carryin' all this damn weight around still?"

"It is my burden to bear."

"What the fuck, man. Still gonna lug all that shit around? How long? To ya goddamn grave??"

A sharp, bloody glare cut him straight to the bone. "And what about you? Are you not carrying the ghost of a dead somebody on your shoulders?"

If Cid had a cigarette in his mouth, he would have swallowed it. As it was, he jerked away from Vincent as if physically shoved. Anger burbled hot and uncomfortable in the back of his throat, in tandem with the molten shame creeping down his spine.

"That ain't the same, dammit!"

"How is it not?"

Cid yanked his lighter out, flicked the cap open and closed a couple times. Then he got a cigarette out, jammed it between his teeth, and glared back at Vincent. "Cuz I ain't fuckin' self-flagellatin' myself."

Between one blink and the next, Vincent crowded close, shoving Cid onto his back and climbing over him. The flutter of his cloak sent a cold chill up Cid's spine, dousing anger with something close to fear. The look in Vincent's eyes was something not seen since the early years, when he cared not a whit for any of them. Vincent snatched the cigarette away from the flame, knocked the lighter from Cid's hand, and even went so far as to snag the beer between Cid’s legs to throw it over his shoulder. The glass shattered on the launchpad below.

“Hey, dammit!”

"How much must I change for you, Cid Highwind?" His voice was a hot gush of air against Cid's neck. "And how long shall I look the other way as you take so little care of yourself?"

“Ya ain't gotta change the shit that matters!” Cid shoved at the other man, to no avail. Like trying to pick an airship up barehanded. "I ain't near as bad as you, Vince..."

"Only because your body cannot take as much punishment," Vincent retorted.

"Get _off_ me, Valentine."

"Not yet." Vincent laid his gloved hand against Cid's cheek, thumb under his eye. "You and I, we are too alike in our lacking of self-worth." He lowered his gaze, seemed to steel himself, and then asked, "What will you give if I surrender my arm?"

"Nn-- ugh. ...What do ya want?"

"When we have overstayed our welcome, what will you do?"

"Iunno."

"When you know, I will let you relieve me of this excess weight." Vincent withdrew, drawing his cloak around himself. "Not before."

“That don't sound like askin’ me to give nothin’ up.”

“Doesn't it?”


	45. sound of your voice

For an hour or two, Cid sat at the very edge of the rusty walkway, working his way through his six pack of beer and gazing up at the stars he'd once flown amongst. Vincent stood several feet back, leaning against the rail with his cape flapping in the cold wind. They hadn't spoken since Vincent's ultimatum, each lost in their own thoughts. Cid felt low and tired and only a little tipsy, with sour liquid sloshing in his stomach.

"...I got several dead somebodies," Cid admitted, tipping the last bottle of beer to spill the cheap swill down onto the launchpad. "Always think 'bout Mitch first. My cousin."

"The twin?"

"Yeah. Darrel's twin... We all went off to that fuckin' war. Didn't have a choice. Nine years is a long damn time, if ya ain't got forever."

With a clack of boot heels on metal, Vincent came closer, standing just behind Cid. "It is a long time even if you do have forever."

"I guess." Cid put the empty beer bottle into the bag with the others. He leaned back on his hands, tipped his head back far enough to eye Vincent. "’Sides from family… Everyone I ever screwed 'round with back then, serious or not, is dead now. Didn't figure on tryin' again."

Vincent tucked his chin, staring down. "...Me either."

"Sorry. I've been a real jackass tonight."

"I will tell her.” Slowly, as though afraid of spooking Cid, he reached out, settling his hand into blond hair. “Not yet, but when the time is right."

"When's that gonna be?"

"Before we tell the rest of our friends."

"Uh... huh. And when d'ya wanna do that?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead, Highwind, but I assume Yuffie is a ticking time bomb of gossip."

Cid snorted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well... I owe ya a strawberry festival, don't I?"

"I seem to recall promises of that sort..."

"Then I'll find out when the damn thing is. We can drag our stupid ass friends out to Mideel and tell 'em then. It'll be 'round spring. Will that be enough time?"

"Thank you, Chief," Vincent said, voice soft. "I won't make you be a shameful secret for long."

"Good, 'cuz I fuckin' suck at stealth." Getting to his feet, mindful of wobbly legs and poor balance, Cid gathered his trash and nudged Vincent back towards the ladder. "I've had enough of this fuckin' cold."

"Are you going to be able to climb down without falling?"

"I ain't that drunk."

"Hmm..."

Vincent did not use the ladder, stepping off into the darkness. His cloak streamed behind him as he flew downwards and landed gracefully to wait and watch as Cid eased down the ladder. Although he was barely tipsy, he didn't trust the old metal not to bend or snap under his weight, and his reactions were likely to be slow. He made it to the ground without incident.

And a thought occurred to him as he eyed Vincent.

"Where the hell am I gonna sleep, if we ain't out? Look real fuckin' odd if she catches us sharin'."

"Ah."

Sighing, Cid shook his head. "No cuddlin' and such 'til she knows... Fuck, Valentine, put me outta my misery already."

"You have an apartment, Cid."

"She gonna start askin' some real damn pointy questions if ya always sneakin' off to stay the night in my dingy _one-bedroom_ apartment when there's a perfectly good fuckin' bed at Shera's." Cid started back towards the truck. "Anyway, Shera'll kick my ass to the moon if I turn down her hospitality."

"People might pay good money to see such a strong kicking leg. Perhaps you should sell tickets before you invoke her wrath..."

"Ha ha. If ya ain't gonna fuckin' take our dilemma serious, ya can fuckin' walk back."

"Why would I walk?" Vincent asked.

They got back to the truck, then, and Cid's attention was momentarily diverted.

"Ahh, fuck, look at my _truck_ , oughta make ya walk anyway."

"Sorry. I'm not walking one way or the other."

"Sassy shit..."

The dent in the roof looked even worse from outside the truck. Cid tossed his trash in the back, then yanked the door open, causing the cab light to turn on. He frowned over the damages, already calculating whether it would be worth it to try to reshape the metal or cut it off for a replacement.

"Hey, starshine..."

"Hm?"

"Come with me to the inn tonight. Lemme have one last easy sleep before we gotta sneak 'round."

“You have an apartment, Cid,” Vincent said, again.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but ya murdered my fuckin’ bathtub and ain’t nobody been there to turn the damn bedding down.”

Vincent frowned a little, considering that. Then he shook his head, very slightly, with his eyelids fluttering shut in that way that suggested he was rolling his eyes. "And _this_ won't raise questions?"

"No, 'cuz we can claim boy's night out drinkin' or some shit."

"...Alright."

"Awesome. Get in, and try not to fuck my poor baby up any worse."

Vincent went around to the other side, getting in soft and quiet and gentle. He waited, watching closely, until Cid got in and started the truck up. And then, clearing his throat to make Cid look at him, making eye contact the whole while-- he shoved the flat of his palm against the indent, bending the metal with ease. He pushed until the roof was mostly unbent, though it would need to be gone over properly later to take out the uneven warp and smaller dents.

"...Holy _shit_ ," Cid breathed, eyes wide.

"Sorry I keep breaking your things, Chief."

“Uh.”

“Have I broken something else of yours?” Vincent wondered, after Cid failed to say anything remotely coherent.

“Might’ve.”

Swallowing, Cid put the truck in reverse and backed out across the dirt road. He got them pointed back to Rocket Town with only a few rough bumps as they hit the old, heavy cords draped in the way and the thicker undergrowth on either side of the road.

As they rolled back into town, Cid blurted, "Hey, uh... prolly gonna sound like an asshole again, askin' this, but... Um." He trailed off, drumming his fingers against the wheel.

"Just ask."

"Hell. Alright. Ya aren't... yanno. She was the one, right? For years _and_ years." Cid dragged the heel of his left hand against his thigh, as if to scrub off the greasy, sweaty feeling of nerves. It didn't help.

"Are you trying to ask me, _again_ , whether I might choose Lucrecia over you?"

"...Nevermind, I'm just bein' an insecure dipshit."

Vincent sighed, deep and slow. He said nothing, seeming to let the topic go, until Cid pulled into the inn's parking lot. The minute Cid shut the engine off, shoving the keys into his pocket, Vincent twisted his upper body so that he could grab Cid by the neckline of his shirt, preventing him from leaving the cab.

"I loved Lucrecia more than words can sufficiently describe, Cid Highwind, but we are not the same people we were thirty-odd years ago." His mouth was drawn down in a thin line, brows furrowed. "This is the last we will discuss this." His grip on Cid's shirt dropped, in favor of snagging the dog tags, giving them a pointed yank. "Know that I've made my choice. I would sooner have the man who accepted me as I am, than someone who will think sadly of who I was."

Cid let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "...Thanks, starshine."

"Hn." Vincent released the dog tags, shrinking back against the passenger door. "Now, if we're done talking--" he said that last with a slight wrinkle of his nose, "--I'm tired."

"Sure, let's put the grumps to bed." Impishly, Cid pressed a kiss against Vincent's temple, grinning at the sidelong glare he got.

Then he hopped out of the truck, feeling somewhat lighter. Vincent got out as well, hesitating near the truck until Cid stopped at the front door, looking back in silent askance. Ducking down into his cloak's mantle, Vincent moved to follow him inside.

While Vincent strayed towards the vending machines to do his weird blending into the shadows thing that Cid never figured out the mechanics of, given the bright red cloak and all, Cid went up to front desk to ring the bell. He propped his hip against the counter while he waited for service, digging his phone out. For once, he had the forethought to update Shera.

{Gonna be out tonite.}

The innkeeper ambled out of the backroom, smiling sleepily. "Oh... Captain! Sorry to keep ya waitin'. Yer apartment down for the count again?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Tsk." The man snagged a key off the rack on the back wall, laid it on the counter between them, and nudged the card reader over. "Yanno the drill. Eleven hundred check out, complimentary breakfast, yada yada."

"Yep."

Cid glanced at his phone, which buzzed with a new notification, then paid quickly. He grabbed the room key, saluted the innkeeper, and headed upstairs, trusting Vincent to follow him.

"See ya in the mornin', Captain," the innkeeper called out.

{Ok? Something the matter, captain?}

{L don't know bout us}

{...}

Figuring the conversation might be over, Cid stowed his phone in his back pocket. He checked the number on the room key, then walked on, seeking out the correct door. It was all the way down at the end of the hall, separated from the other rooms by a storage closet. Sometimes, Cid wondered if that room was on reserve for him, since it always seemed to be available the rare few times he needed to stay over.

After letting Vincent into the room, Cid wandered over to flop on the bed, watching the dark haired man disappear into the bathroom. His ass buzzed again.

{Is there a reason we haven't told her? She's gonna have to deal.}

{30 yr cult shock. Vince wants to wait.}

{I suppose that makes sense... I'm going to kick your butts if you don't tell her!!}

{dont worry, i’ll line our asses up for ya} He noticed Vincent standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him. {gotta go}

{Have a good night, Captain.}

“What's up?”

“I would like a shower. Will you assist me?”

“Ya want company?”

“Maybe next time.”

Cid set his phone face down on the mattress and rolled off the bed. The sudden movement made his head spin, bladder cramping uncomfortably. "Oof, I better use the shitter first."

With a soft snort, Vincent stepped out of the way. As he entered, shutting the door behind him, he heard Vincent say, "That's what you get for drinking the swill found in the gutter.”

Sometime later, Cid opened the bathroom door to find Vincent gracefully sprawled on the bed, his arm thrown over his eyes. Cid had a mouthful of complimentary toothpaste and a toothbrush dangling from his lips. He leaned in the doorway, scrubbing his teeth, until red eyes peeked at him from the shadow of a pale arm.

"Survived your ordeal, Chief?"

Cid stuck his tongue out, then ducked back into the bathroom to rinse. One moment, he was alone, the next a pale specter in red and black loomed at his shoulder. He sputtered, choking on water, and flipped Vincent off.

Smirking, Vincent touched the barest tips of his fingers against Cid's lower back. At the lack of protest, those fingers crept along his spine, settling more firmly against the back of his neck.

"...Ya still want that shower?" Cid asked, lowly.

"Yes."

With a nod, Cid snapped the water off and toweled his hands and face off. He turned, propping his butt against the edge of the counter. Vincent never pulled his hand away, so it ended up splayed over the front of Cid's neck, fingers curled over his pulse.

They watched each other for a long moment, neither speaking. Cid looked away first, goosebumps crawling up his arms. He swallowed thickly under the press of pale fingers, then cleared his throat. Vincent took pity on him by way of lifting his left arm up, the prosthetic still dead weight.

"Hey, uh... can that damn thing come off?" Cid caught it by the wrist, tapping his thumbs against the dented forearm. "I know ya not keen on replacin' it yet, but I prolly can't fix the fuckin' thing if it's stuck to ya."

"Hold it steady, Chief."

Cid slid his right hand up to the forearm, grasping more firmly. Then Vincent pushed, hard, and twisted his shoulder inwards. His breath hissed out through his teeth, eyes narrowed. The metal made a loud click noise, then popped apart, leaving Cid holding the heavy prosthetic. Vincent's sleeve slipped down in the absence of the thick gauntlet to hold it up, but not before Cid caught sight of puffy, scarred flesh.

Tucking the arm up under his own, Cid snagged the sleeve and rolled it back up to look at the stump. Vincent went still, jaw clenched. But he didn't pull away, which spoke volumes of his trust.

"Ya oughta put some lotion on that, shit. Looks painful."

"...I forgot."

"Vince..."

Vincent tipped his chin down, burying his face in his cloak's mantle. "Had other concerns."

"Ahh, whatever. Shit happens." Cid shook his head, letting the sleeve fall back down. "I'll run down to the convenience store while ya in the shower, alright? Got half our shit still in the truck, too, if ya want me to bring somethin' to wear up."

"Please."

"Alright."

Cid put the prosthetic aside on the counter and got to work helping Vincent undo all his buttons and straps. He removed the cloak first, folding it up and setting it beside the arm. The belts, hair tie, and gun holster went on top of the cloak. Boots got tossed against the wall near the door. Vincent toed them until the heels lined up against the wall, neat and straight, eyeing Cid sidelong the whole time he did it.

"Yeah, yeah, fussy bastard. Enjoy ya shower."

Vincent caught him by the belt loop before he could escape, head inclined towards the arm lying limp on the counter. “Didn’t you want to look at it?”

"Oh, right."

Cid snagged the arm, then used it to wave at Vincent, grinning. The hand flopped back and forth, fingers clanking together. He got an open eye roll, and then Vincent took the prosthetic back and pushed him out of the bathroom with the back of the hand, mindful of the sharp claws. Just before he shut the door in Cid’s face, Vincent tossed the arm at him, forcing him to catch it or be hit in the head by it.

Cid left the metal arm on the bed, grabbing his phone. He headed out into the cold night, whistling a tune he couldn't remember the words for. The convenience store was only a couple blocks down the road, so he walked, smoking a cigarette while he tried to make out the stars beyond the glow of street lights. But for a single car driving slowly by, the road was empty.

When Cid reached the convenience store, he idly noted the car by the gas pump. The gawky teen from before hurried out to pump the gas, casting a furtive look at Cid and his still lit cigarette. A little spiteful, Cid took a slow drag of it, making the tip glow bright. The teen blanched and nearly dropped the fuel nozzle. The owner of the car leaned out of the window, voicing concern.

Cid lifted one foot to stub the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot, then crossed the parking lot. He flicked the butt into the ashtray by the door. The teen was still watching him as he went inside.

A small sign sat on the counter, asking customers to _Please wait for service_. The only thing keeping anyone from stealing while the clerk was out pumping gas was a single security camera in one corner near the front door. Cid thought that monumentally stupid, even if Rocket Town was a nice, safe town where nothing ever happened if it didn't have his own surname stamped on it.

Cid wandered down the aisles, keeping his hands in his pockets until he found the limited selection of medicinal items. Cheaply made potions and softs, painkillers and bandages, all the miscellaneous sundry one might need on the road. Thankfully, the kind of lotion he sought was readily available, owing to mechanical limbs being common, particularly since the locals did everything from mechanical engineering to drilling. Cid counted himself lucky to not have lost a limb or two, since he'd personally worked on more than half of the more dangerous projects funded by his company.

Since he couldn't pay until the clerk came back, Cid meandered around the other aisles with the bottle of lotion under his arm. He ended up standing in front of the single shelf of wines in the very back, beneath a faintly buzzing, flickering fluorescent light. The price tags beneath all but one bottle suggested that they were no better than the crap beer he'd already flushed down the toilet.

He knew nothing about wine, except that Vincent liked it. The joy of technology was that he wouldn't have to go home and _ask_ someone who knew wine--he could pull his phone out, tap the browser app, and look it up all in the span of a few minutes. Which he did, because the damn clerk was still outside.

Shockingly, the most expensive bottle on the shelf had decent reviews. It was, as one commenter said, the kind of thing to take to a housewarming party if one didn't have access to an excess of money or a local winery. Shrugging, Cid decided to trust the opinion of a bunch of faceless strangers on the internet. Vincent already knew he wasn't a high class guy, and apparently liked him anyway. The gesture would count for something.

Cid retrieved a plastic basket from the end of the aisle and piled the wine and the lotion in it. Then he went to get some canned teas from the cooler. After some thought, he tossed in a bag of hard candy sticks and a handful of the slightly fancier chocolate bars, the kinds that came extra dark, with sea salt or coffee in them. And some chips, just because wasabi flavor sounded stupid enough to amuse Vincent.

By the time he finished gathering his impulse purchases, the clerk finally came back inside, putting the sign away. They eyed him nervously and stuttered through the usual script as they rang him up. He paid and left without a word, figuring he'd given the kid enough grief for one night.


	46. pain in reverse

Cid walked back to the inn parking lot, stopping by the truck to retrieve a change of clothes for both of them, plus his toolbox. He put the former inside the plastic bags from the store. Then, after some consideration, he decided to move everything from the bed of the truck to the cab, locking it securely. Rocket Town was a growing city, and the inn was where unknowns were likely to be. He didn't care to find someone made off with their stuff.

At last, he went back to the room to find that the shower was off, but Vincent hadn't come out of the bathroom. Cid set his toolbox down by the bed and nudged it under. He pulled the clothes and the lotion out of the bag and went over to the bathroom door to knock.

"Yes?"

"Brought clothes and such."

"Leave them on the counter."

Since he had not been invited to look, Cid cracked the door open wide enough to deposit the bundle on the counter, then pulled the door shut again, all while keeping his eyes averted.

"Thanks, Chief."

"Uh-huh."

That done, Cid went to the bed to sit and have a proper look at the prosthetic limb. He kicked his boots off, then got more comfortable, legs folded and back against the headboard, with the limp golden arm in his lap. He turned it over, feeling out the shape of the dent, getting a feel for its weight and how the wrist and fingers flexed. The whole thing was fascinating-- layers of yellow metal plating over sleek black leather, and beneath _that_ the mechanical workings that Cid itched to study from the very first day he saw the arm.

As Vincent possessed a grafted on port, it did not operate on basic mechanical systems like a pulley. His actual nervous system told it what to do. It was very likely that the arm was powered by the electrical charges in his body or something to that effect. Didn't seem like it had the means to store solar power or anything, and a battery that could last more than thirty years would have changed the course of technology almost as much as mako had.

Cid lifted the elbow and peered at the end. Nothing to see but the other half of the connecting port where Vincent's grafted pieces slotted in. He felt along the leather on the palm, but found no visible seams, nor anything that might let him have a look at what had broken inside. The only thing he could see to remove was the tiny screws holding the metal plates on.

Frowning, he leaned down off the bed without actually getting up, feeling around until he found the handle of the toolbox. He dragged it out and rummaged through it for a kit of smaller screwdrivers. As he tested the screws for the correct size of screwdriver, the bathroom door opened.

Cid glanced up, didn't think much of it, went back to frowning at the arm... and did a double take.

Vincent, apparently having decided his own shirt would be too much effort, wore Cid's. And it wasn't just any shirt, but the stupid one that said, "Spicy Big Dad". It hung loosely on him, and was just a tad too short so that when he stood straight, it revealed a tantalizing sliver of pale flesh and dark hair going south.

"Thought ya hated that one."

"...I'm doing the world a favor and preventing you from going out in public in it."

"Sure, 'cuz that makes a hell of a lot of sense." Cid nodded, unable to keep from grinning.

Vincent approached the bed, easing into the empty space. He didn't lay down yet, owing to wet hair air drying on a towel draped over his shoulders. His gun holster hung over his good shoulder, and he set it down within reach.

"Were you about to destroy my arm, thus forcing me to replace it?"

" _No_. Why the hell-- I gotta open it up to find out what's wrong with it."

"I crushed it holding up a collapsing roof so our friends could get out. Mystery solved."

Cid made a low noise through grit teeth that was equal parts annoyance and amusement. "I'm real damn glad we solved that mystery, Mr. Valentine, now if ya'd like to quit sassin' me, I'd like permission to look at the mechanics of this thing and see if I can fix the fucker or not. Also, there's some goddamn snacks and drinks on the bedside table, so please feel free to put somethin' in your fuckin' mouth and shush the hell up."

Vincent shifted around to peer at the bag of stuff. "Hmm... You brought wine." He picked the bottle up, inspecting it with the bottom resting against his knee. "But no cups and no way to open it."

Cid frowned deeply as he focused on undoing the tiny, fiddly screws and not losing them. One by one, he removed the golden plates on the arm, revealing the hidden seams of leather, including clasps along the forearm.

"So call for some goddamn room service," he muttered, absently.

"That seems like effort, Highwind."

"Tough shit."

"Did you only want me for my mechanical arm?"

"What." Cid jerked his head up, staring.

"Room service, Cid, so I can appreciate the subpar rotten grapes of your effort."

"Fuck, alright, alright. Whatcha want?"

With raised brows, Vincent lifted the wine bottle, as if that explained everything he could possibly want. And then, seeing Cid’s frown deepening, he said, “...I could do with you keeping that promise of trashy movies and cuddling.”

"So damn demandin'," Cid grumbled, without any heat.

"Do you want me to add that you should go wash off the stink of that pisswater you called beer?"

"Was gonna anyway."

"You'd best mosey, then."

Leveling Vincent with a glare, but unable to stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, Cid set the arm and the screwdriver down so he could pick up the old plastic phone on the bedside table. He put in the request for Vincent, apologizing for bugging so late at night. The innkeeper hardly deserved to be made to run about looking for a corkscrew at 0234 at night.

After he'd hung up, Cid put an exceptionally trashy B horror on, something about undead cheerleaders. He did not lay down yet, choosing to finish what he'd started in opening the arm up. Vincent leaned against his side, content to let Cid be for the time being.

Cid undid the clasps and peeled back leather, revealing a complex piece of machinery designed to emulate the shape of muscles and bones. Some parts of it were so small and fiddly that it was no wonder the whole thing had been stuck inside protective leather. A single pebble jammed in those parts could cause failure.

Or, it seemed, the crushing weight of falling debris, which bent the larger parts out of shape and snapped the more delicate ones, interrupting the connection to the port. If the arm were flesh, Vincent's radius would be snapped and the surrounding muscles crushed or cut by sharp bone splinters.

"Damn, this is some advanced shit."

Vincent looked away from the grisly scene of cheerleaders discovering their hunger for flesh and reveling in it. "Is it salvageable?"

"Oughta be. Too fuckin' bad we ain't got blueprints. Mebbe Lucrecia can help later."

"I am in possession of all remaining documents pertaining to my person, courtesy of Shinra reparations."

Cid blinked. "What, holy shit, really?"

"Mhm." 

Vincent sat up, moments before someone knocked on the door. He made a slight shooing motion, so Cid went to answer. The innkeeper looked exasperated as he passed over a bucket of ice, two plastic cups, and a corkscrew, but he still smiled and waved as he waddled off back downstairs.

After locking the door, Cid returned to the bed, passing the bucket full of stuff to Vincent, who immediately nestled the wine bottle in the ice and set it aside.

"So... blueprints?" Cid prompted.

"Possibly."

"And other shit, but, fuckin' blueprints for this..."

Thoughtful, Cid walked his fingers along the broken arm. Though heavy and not likely to be doing Vincent's back any favors, the design itself was impressive. Whatever materials it was made of, it had withstood the test of time, and if Cid had to guess, the only reason it broke was because of repeated weakening over time and finally one last blow via too much pressure applied at just the right spot. Mechanical limbs were not his specialty; it could take him a lifetime to try and reverse engineer it.

" _Could_ Lucrecia fix this thing?"

"She is a biotechnologist, Cid," Vincent said, slowly, as though explaining something obvious. "I may as well ask you to splice DNA."

"Hey, she fuckin' implied she knew how it goddamn worked."

"She is not the one who did this to me."

"...Wasn't what I meant."

"I know."

They were silent for several moments. Vincent gazed distantly off to the side, lost in thought, and Cid watched with horrified amusement as the undead cheerleaders attended a football game, turning the entire event into an over the top splatterfest. Gently, he nudged Vincent to get his attention, nodding towards the fake blood smeared on the camera lens.

The staged violence made Vincent snort softly in disbelief. He looked away, glancing between the arm and Cid, lips thinning out.

“I am loath to leave Rocket Town while Lucrecia’s health is poor,” he admitted. “I trust Shera but…”

“Yeah, I getcha.”

“After the weekend. If her health has improved… I will go to Nibelheim and retrieve the data you need.” Vincent tapped his fingers against his dog tags, jangling them. “If you will look after her in the meantime.”

“Sure, not a problem. Ya gonna be okay, runnin’ ‘round with one damn arm?”

“Do you worry my aim will falter without a second hand?”

“Mine sure does,” Cid quipped.

“Go soak your head.”

Since there really wasn’t much he _could_ do for Vincent’s arm yet, Cid put it back together. When he finished, he offered it back and Vincent shoved it under the bed.

Cid waited until Vincent sat back up and got re-situated, then leaned over to peck him on the cheek. He expected to make a great escape into the bathroom. A pale hand flashed out, almost too fast to see, fisting shirt and dog tags. Vincent yanked, eyes glittering, and stole the kiss right back, lips grazing the stubble along his jaw and up over his cheek. Cid's startled yelp got muffled against Vincent's mouth, the tail end of the noise becoming a hum of approval.

Just as he tilted his head and tried to deepen the kiss, Vincent uncurled his fist and pushed. Cid flailed, making a grab for the headboard in a desperate bid to not get rolled right off the bed. Too much force all at once caused him to overbalance.

"Uh--!"

"Ah, sor--" Vincent lunged to try and catch him, but too late. "--ry."

Cid hit the floor in a heap, knocking his head against the nearby wall hard enough to see sparks. "Ow fuck!!"

Hesitant, Vincent scooted over to peer down at him. "...Are you alright, Chief?"

"Shiiit."

Cid clutched his head between his hands, one eye squeezed shut and the other barely squinted open. As soon as the initial shock and pain eased, he gingerly felt along his skull. The back of his head ached, but it didn't seem like any lasting damage had been done. No blood, anyway.

"Nnnnot the kinda rough housin' I usually go for, starshine."

"Sorry." A pause, in which Vincent watched Cid sit up, hunched over his lap. "Ah. We... broke the wall."

"What?!"

A little too quickly, Cid twisted around to stare, and sure enough, there was a new crack in the cheap wood paneling. Even as he looked at it, the lower half of one of the boards fell off, revealing faded wallpaper beneath. The whole thing struck him as equal parts infuriating-- who in the hell just put cheap ass wood up over nasty old wallpaper? --and hilarious.

"Oh fuck, no one's ever gonna rent to my ass again if ya keep havin' goddamn technological distresses all over their fuckin' properties, Valentine!"

"Somehow, I don't think this counts as a technological distress..."

"I'm a goddamn rocket science and I'm fuckin' distressed as hell!"

"Oh, is that how that works now."

Cid grabbed the loose piece of wood and chucked it at Vincent. His aim went wide; the thing bounced off the lamp by the window, making it wobble precariously. Both men held their breath, waiting to see if the lamp would meet its end, taking with it more of Cid's hard earned gil.

Vincent turned to look at Cid when the lamp's base settled firmly back down. "Let's not push our luck."

"If ya done tryna murder me, I'm done retaliatin’."

"It was an _accident_ , I would never--"

Cid interrupted that rising alarm with a fast smooch and then he really was off, darting into the bathroom. He heard Vincent's extremely loud sigh and the following creak of springs as the man flopped on the mattress through the door. It was easy to imagine the sulky sprawl, like a cat rubbed the wrong way and left to deal with rumpled fur. If the sulk persisted through his shower, Cid would just have to soothe it away. A bit of broken paneling in an old inn wasn't that big a deal.

He stripped down and climbed into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go, which wasn't much. The water pressure was even worse than he remembered, and the tub filled up at his feet until he noticed a tangle of long black hair clogging the drain. With a snort, he bent to fish the hair out and heard the door click open.

"Oi, if ya wanted to watch, ya could've asked."

"Ah." Vincent cleared his throat. "I forgot the lotion."

"And half yer hair, fuck, are ya hidin' a bald spot?" Cid flicked the wet hair out, into the little trash can by the toilet. "Go on, get in or get out, but close the fuckin' door. Lettin' in all the damn cold air."

The door clicked shut. Cid caught the edge of the shower curtain, twitching it aside to check whether he was alone, and on seeing that Vincent not only chose to leave, but left the lotion behind, Cid shook his head, smiling fondly. The night was full of weird, off-kilter awkwardness, largely his own damn fault. It'd probably be best if they didn't get up to anything too strenuous. He was gonna throw the damn lotion at Vincent's head though.

Cid scrubbed off thoroughly, hurrying as the water temperature and pressure dropped. He just barely managed to get the last of the soap rinsed off when the temperature went ice cold and then the water shut off entirely, leaving him blinking and shivering, not even really able to register the shock of cold until it was gone.

"What the shit."

Muffling a chortle against his hand, he turned the shower off, stopping the weak trickle of water from the head.

The whole damn inn would collapse around his ears one of these days. His apartment wasn't that much better, and he couldn't keep crashing at Shera's. The entire idea of giving her the house had been so she would have a place entirely her own. Plus, he hated the memories that crept up on him when he stayed over and no one was around.

He grabbed a towel from the rack, dried off, then climbed out, still ruminating on his housing situation.

He wondered what Vincent intended to do, once they married. The cabin in Nibelheim would be too small for the both of them in the long run. As Cid pulled a pair of boxers on, he gave thought to the possibility that Vincent might wish to continue to live separately. Nothing said they would need to live together, nor that Vincent would cease his sojourns into the wild, absent for weeks or months at a time. The same went for Cid, with his urge to fly the world over.

Cid picked up the dog tags, running his thumb over their names. A promise that they would always come back to one another. That's all he'd ever ask for.

Vincent told him to figure out what he was going to do with himself. He didn't have a damn clue about the long term, but right then, he was gonna go watch crappy movies and sleep next to his better half.

He put the dog tags on, picked up the lotion, then left the bathroom. Most of the lights were off, except for the lamp near the window. Vincent sprawled down the middle of the bed, nursing a cup of wine while watching another cheesy horror. Cid eyed the television and recognized the movie as a cult classic about people being trapped inside a murder box. Or maybe one of the less than stellar sequels.

Either way, Cid went over to the bed and got under the covers, making himself right at home against Vincent’s side, since the other man refused to move over.

“Here,” Cid said, poking the lotion bottle against Vincent’s ribs.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Vincent traded the nearly finished plastic cup of sour red wine for the lotion. Cid took one sip of the wine, made a face, and put the cup aside on the table. His distraction gave Vincent time to slather the lotion on his stump without being watched.

A faint crackle caught Cid’s attention. He frowned, trying to locate the source. It happened again a second later, accompanied by a faint blue flash, like seeing a static shock in the dark. Every time Vincent moved his left arm, the connection port sputtered, spitting out tiny sparks of energy.

“Woah, shit, that’s not good.” Cid sat up. “Don't that hurt?”

“It takes time for lotion to have any effect, Highwind.”

“Not that. Your port’s sparkin’ like loose wirin’ fixin’ to burn the damn house down.”

Brows lowering, chin tucking, Vincent lifted his arm as if to look at the end. He had just enough arm left that he’d never be able to see the port without a mirror. From the way his eyes narrowed, he’d spotted the sparking.

“I appear to be a living technological distress,” Vincent sighed. “Any suggestions?”

“Lemme turn a light on…”

Cid turned the bedside lamps back on, then retrieved a small flashlight from his toolbox. He waggled it at Vincent as warning, then turned it on and shined it at the port so he could see what was going on.

The bits of metal grafted to Vincent were a dull grey, likely some kind of material that could withstand everyday oils and grime of a human being. That made spotting the broken chunk of yellow still wedged in easy enough. Removing it with active electrical currents of an unknown voltage was risky business, though, and Cid abstained from touching it with his bare hands.

He got a screwdriver with a rubber handle to poke at the port… and froze when Vincent paled, teeth grit against a hissed exhalation that did not sound like anything remotely resembling pleasure.

“...Right, fuck, that's active nerves.”

“So it seems,” Vincent muttered. Despite the pain and discomfort, he did not pull away. Did, in fact, gesture with the stump in a way that strongly hinted at _get on with it_.

Cid set the screwdriver down in his lap and gently guided Vincent into angling the arm this way and that, studying the outer edges of the port without touching anything. He found two small notches where a flatblade screwdriver might fit, right between the curved plates that surrounded the port itself. Looked kind of like the pieces could be popped off.

“Tell me if this hurts and I’ll stop fuckin’ with it, okay?”

“Alright.”

With a nod, Cid picked the screwdriver back up and tried levering one of the plates off. Vincent did not react, except to blink at the snap noise when the plate came up. Cid pulled both pieces of metal away, revealing a complex series of circuits and wires.

Whoever oversaw the grafting did a sloppy job that harmed the patient almost as much as it helped. But whoever built the parts had thoughtfully labeled the most important thing-- a tiny hole, barely larger than the eye of a sewing needle. It had the _”HOLD F RESET”_ above it and _”TAP PWR”_ beneath it.

“Huh. How’s about that, your arm’s got a factory reset button.” Cid scratched his chin, thoughtful. “Betcha we don't wanna fuck with resettin’ nothin’.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Means uhh… the port’s savin’ memories of how to work. Prolly for makin’ it easier for your brain to shout shit at the metal arm to make it do whatever ya want.”

“Oh… And if you reset it…?”

“No tellin’ what we’s hafta do to get it back to functioning proper. Might fuck all sortsa shit up.”

“I like my arms to do what I tell them to.”

“Yeah.” Cid nodded, gaze on the printed _”TAP PWR”_ beneath the button. “Seems like… if I tap this, it might stop the static til we get this shit sorted. Okay to try?”

“Not like there's any other choice, is there?”

“Could take our chances with ya spittin’ sparks…”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay, lemme find somethin’ small enough…”

Cid hunted through his toolbox and found an old plastic tube of toothpicks at the bottom. He tapped a couple out into his palm, testing the strength of the wood to make sure they weren't soft and rotten. The last thing they needed was to break splinters off inside.

“Ready?” Cid asked.

“As I’ll ever be…”

With one last silent prayer that he wasn't about to fuck everything up, Cid stuck the toothpick in, pressing firmly. After a second, they both heard the faint crackling noise fade away. Cid withdrew the toothpick and Vincent worked his arm up and down. No sparks.

“Feels strange,” Vincent said. “Something is missing.”

“Brain’s prolly lookin’ for the nerves we shut off. Is it too uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Alright, ya got a broken bit of metal jammed in there. I can try gettin’ it out or--”

“If it’s not dangerous, I’d like to leave it for now.”

“Yeah, sure. Can take a look later, at the workshop or somethin’. Whenever ya ready.”

“Thank you.”

Vincent lowered his arm, tugging the short sleeve down to hide it as much as possible. Then he shifted over onto his side of the bed, laying on his side with his back to Cid.

“Gonna be okay?”

“A little much at once.”

Nodding, Cid put his stuff back in the toolbox, then switched the lights off. He lay down, leaving space between them.

Eventually, between the end of one movie and the next, Vincent shifted a little closer. His red eyes glimmered in the dark over his shoulder. Cid yawned, taking the invite, cuddling up against Vincent’s back with his arm draped over the other man’s narrow waist, mindful not to touch the left arm at all.

When he began to doze, he kissed the back of Vincent’s clothed shoulder, murmuring, “Night, starshine.”

“Good night, Chief.”


	47. no surrender

Cid woke to a hot, heavy weight draped across his chest and long, dark hair tickling his nose. He felt sweaty and sticky, his right arm was comprised entirely of pins and needles, and his bladder made its protests known when Vincent shifted, putting more weight on his middle.

It was bliss, if bliss felt like getting kicked in the teeth at... He squinted blearily at the alarm clock across the room. 0552, still gloomy and gray out. He’d barely gotten two hours of sleep, maybe three if he was lucky.

"Fuuuck," he groaned, dragging his hand across his eyes.

"Hmm...?"

"Sorry." Cid pressed a kiss atop Vincent's head, then nudged at him. "Gotta take a leak."

With a very put upon sigh, Vincent rolled away, curling in on himself on the cooler side of the bed. He dragged the blanket with him, pulling it up to his eyebrows. Cid made his escape, rubbing at his still asleep arm and flexing the hand as he hurried into the bathroom.

While he was in there, he washed up and brushed his teeth. Beneath the sound of running water, Cid heard his phone buzzing from the pocket of his pants, which were in a heap on the floor in front of the toilet. Cid finished rinsing his mouth out and dried off before retrieving his pants, yanking them on. He'd change into clean pants when they got so dirty that they could get up and walk on their own. He kind of wanted a fresh shirt, but Vincent had stolen that. Cid would have to deal with a dirty shirt for the time being.

The buzzing was caused by text messages from Shera from an hour or so ago. Cid frowned at the phone's screen as he read.

{Rough night for L.  
She's fine now, but worried about V.}

{Will be over as soon as I can get Vince up,} Cid sent.

He gathered up the rest of their stuff-- namely Vincent's cloak, boots, and clothes --and left the bathroom. After setting everything on the end of the bed, Cid sat on his side to pull his own boots on. Vincent shifted some, scooting closer. Red eyes watched him sleepily from the cocoon of blankets.

"Mornin', starshine..."

"Chief."

"We gotta get a move on."

"Hn..." With obvious reluctance, Vincent pushed the blankets down around his hips. He gave a slow, full-body stretch, making the ridiculous shirt ride up even higher. "Something the matter?"

Cid stared longingly at the exposed patch of pale skin. He thought about not saying anything, about touching and other things that involved not getting out of bed. Vincent's eyes narrowed some and he self-consciously tugged the shirt hem down, but he did not become more closed off, watching Cid with sleepy interest.

Then Cid thought about how Vincent would react when, not if, he found out that not only had Lucrecia needed him, but Cid had known and hadn't _told_ him. With a world-weary sigh, Cid got off the bed.

"Lucrecia's in need of a familiar face. And Shera's fuckin' wastin' away without my cookin', c'mon."

Vincent rolled out of bed, abruptly all business. He grabbed his things and vanished back into the bathroom to change. Meanwhile, Cid bagged the rest of their stuff up, then helped himself to a can of tea and a candy stick. He needed the sugar and caffeine to not feel like he might pass out at any given moment.

When Vincent came back out of the bathroom, he held the long, trailing sleeve of his left arm out towards Cid. "I assume we can't put the arm back on."

"Nah-uh, prolly not."

"Help me tie this off, then."

Cid obliged him, knotting the sleeve so it wouldn't flap about. "Wanna swing by my workshop this afternoon, if Lucrecia's alright?"

"We'll see." Vincent plucked the red stick of candy hanging from the corner of Cid's lips and put it in his own mouth. "The nightmares that plague her are as great as my own."

With his gaze fixed on Vincent's mouth, Cid muttered, "Different star of the show, same fuckin' shit."

He exerted great willpower and control to not vie for the candy or other things, choosing instead to get a move on. All told, they were out the door within five minutes, and driving back to Shera's as fast as Cid was able to throw everything in the back and get the truck started.

"Cid," Vincent said, when they pulled into the driveway. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"I would have chosen to be selfish, if you asked me to put up with any of your previous flames."

"Don't get me wrong, Valentine."

Cid threw the truck door open and got out. He walked up to the front door, rapping his knuckles against the windowpane to get Shera's attention instead of going on a scavenger hunt for a spare.

Vincent drifted over to stand at his side, head tilted. "What do you mean?"

"I'm doin' this shit for purely selfish reasons."

Inside, Shera came bustling from the kitchen. Through the thin curtains, Cid could see she was in her robe, her hair mussed and glasses crooked. She yawned, waving, as she hurried towards the door.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, can't have my star gone dull and sad." Cid stuffed his hands in his pockets, squinting at Vincent. "If ya need this, then I gotta fuckin' deal."

"Only proves my point," Vincent murmured, right as Shera pulled the door open to let them in. "Shera." He brushed past her and vanished upstairs in a swirl of red.

"Hello, Captain," Shera said, smiling sleepily. "Want some tea?"

Cid slung his arm around her shoulders, guiding her inside, away from the chill they'd let in. He kicked the door shut behind them, though not too hard. "Nah-uh, Sher, go sit ya ass down. I can make my own fuckin' tea."

"If you--" She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "--insist."

"Sure do."

He did not insist that she go straight to bed. At most, he saw that she _did_ sit down, taking one of the chairs at the kitchen table, which was covered by documents, open books, and her laptop. From the looks of things, she hadn't slept at all, keeping herself busy with work while on her lonely vigil.

"Sorry we left ya hangin' like that..."

"No, it's quite alright." Shera neatened up, putting papers away in their folders and closing books. "After she'd recovered sufficiently, we had a lovely chat."

Cid fetched the tea kettle, filling it up with water from the sink filter. "Yeah? What about?"

"I explained to her the kinds of work we dabble in. She still can't believe the old sources of energy are back in fashion... or that we've found a use for oil besides flammables."

"Hah. Gotta be a hell of a shock."

"Oh, no doubt." Shera carried her things off to the living room, putting books away on the shelves and returning folders to her filing cabinets. She raised her voice some to be heard as she continued to speak. "She didn't really believe me when I said you'd been amongst the stars, or that we were considering the potentials of further exploration."

"Gonna hafta find somewhere else to launch the damn things from," Cid said, moving the kettle to the stove. He turned the burner on, then went to rummage through the fridge for breakfast materials. "Me 'n Vince were out at the pad last night. Fuckin' rusted to shit."

"Hm-hmmm."

When he straightened from the fridge, he found Shera leaning in the doorway between kitchen and living room, watching him with a smile on her pretty face.

"What?"

"Would you really want to restart the space program?"

"Well, why the hell not?"

"I don't know, Captain. You haven't really chased the stars lately..."

"Planet needed lookin' after," he grumbled.

"And it always will." Shera tapped her thumb against her lips, peering past his shoulder and out the kitchen window, to the distant rusty supports. "We're not getting any younger, Cid. If we start the space program again..."

Cid got a bowl for the eggs and started cracking them. "Prolly gotta send younger folks up, huh?" He shrugged a shoulder, as if the idea of watching others go up while he stayed behind wasn't so bad. "S'alright, could build better'n better engines."

"You'd be stuck in one place."

"Why's that?"

"The head of a department should be readily available, Captain, and building engines doesn't require globe trotting."

"Ya want eggy toast?"

"Sure."

While turning her logic over in his mind and finding little fault in it, he poured a generous amount of milk and cinnamon into the eggs, then whipped them. Next, he got a frying pan, put it over a middling fire, and dropped a spat of butter in it to melt.

Shera took her seat again, closing her laptop and resting her hands atop it. She watched him as he went through the motions of making breakfast--eggy toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, with tea to drink.

The conversation didn't continue until after he'd set a heaping plate in front of her, then started fixing smaller ones for Vincent and Lucrecia.

"Say I don't fuckin' participate in the space program. Is that still somethin' ya gonna do?"

"I think so, yes." Shera got up to pour herself a mug of the tea, adding milk and honey to it. "Mr. Tuesti seems keen on exploring for usable materials from nearby bodies that don't seem to show signs of a lifestream."

"Makes sense, scavengin' what ain't bein' used... Gives our planet a fuckin' break."

"Yes, exactly. Even if you do not commit yourself totally to the program, I'm certain we could use your expertise shaping up the newbies."

"My favorite," Cid said, grinning. "I don't... fuckin' know what I'm doin', Shera. What the hell's left, after the dream's done?"

She took a sip of her tea, tasting whether she'd ruined it enough. Then she sighed and patted him on the shoulder. "That's alright, Captain. I'm always happy to help you find something to do until you figure it out."

"...Thanks."

Shera beamed at him. He left her at the table, devouring her food and browsing something or another on her laptop, in order to carry the two plates upstairs. The door to Lucrecia's room was slightly open. Cid made a point of walking heavily so that its occupants could hear him coming. The murmur of voices trailed away as he came closer.

Red eyes filled the gap between door and frame. Vincent peered down at the food, and then stepped back, pulling the door wider. He accepted the plate of food with a low murmur of thanks.

Lucrecia looked exactly like she'd been up all night crying or worse. Wan and pale and exhausted, but putting on a tiny brave smile as Cid approached.

"Oh," she croaked, "Is this the famous Highwind breakfast I've heard so much about?"

"Ya damn right." Cid helped her sit up, setting her tray before her with the food. "Didn't know how ya took your tea."

"Two spoonfuls of sugar," Vincent answered.

Lucrecia hummed, already nibbling at the eggs. At least her appetite hadn't gone. "Yes, that, please and thank you."

"No problem. Ya better fuckin' eat, Vince, or I'm gonna clock ya."

"I will do my best."

Cid made another trip downstairs to fix tea for the two. He knew how Vincent liked his-- plain, or with alcohol added. Since Shera only possessed fruity wine coolers, Cid left Vincent's tea alone.

He did, however, snipe at Shera, "Where ya hidin' the fuckin' booze, woman? I know that job ain't the kind ya can do sober."

She laughed at him, wagging her fork in his direction. "That's a company secret, and your contract doesn't stipulate that I have to share."

As he went back upstairs, Cid loudly grouched, "I oughta stage a goddamn mutiny, seize the fuckin' company, just to rewrite the damn thing. Must share all hidden locations of alcohol with Captain Cid Highwind, from now into infinity."

"It's not even 8am," Shera called, cheerily, "You can wait until after noon like everybody else!"

Cid delivered the tea, pleased to see Vincent perched on the stool beside the bed, plate in his lap as he gnawed on extra charred bacon. Lucrecia was already halfway through her eggs and starting on the toast. She brightened up considerably after taking a sip of the tea.

"Thank you, Mr. Highwind..."

"Cid's good, unless ya want me to start callin' ya Mrs. Crescent."

"Miss, now, I think... If my husband's really dead."

"Should fuckin' be."

Cid shot a look at Vincent, brows raised. Vincent only crunched his bacon with a particularly vicious snap of teeth, staring moodily into his plate.

"Um... Cid it is, then," Lucrecia said, shifting onto the safer topic. "What are you two going to get up to today?"

"Iunno. Vince?"

"I have no plans except your comfort and safety, Lucrecia."

"I'm going to be fine, thank you, Vincent. I just... needed some food. And sleep. So... Don't hang around here on my account."

Vincent did not look convinced, not even after Lucrecia leveled him with what was probably supposed to be an intimidating look but mostly looked fond and exasperated. Cid rubbed at the back of his head, then shook it.

"We needa have a look at your arm, Vince."

"Oh, yes." Lucrecia sat up some, eager. "Did you figure out what's wrong with it?"

"Shit's broke."

She made a disbelieving noise, like she couldn't believe that he didn't know the particulars. "I thought you were an engineer...?"

"Sure, for fuckin' _rockets_ and just 'bout any kinda transport, short of boats and trains. What 'bout ya, do _you_ know how to fix a fuckin' robot arm?"

"...No, not offhand," she admitted, gaze averted. "But I used to have all the data available, I could have figured it out..."

"I have it," Vincent said. "Your work."

"Really?"

"Hmm."

"That's great! I could--"

"No."

Lucrecia went still, gaping at Vincent. He met her gaze evenly, blank faced and unmoving, until she looked away, wringing her hands.

"Why not...?"

"Yeah, Vince, what the fuck?"

"The consequences of meddling with the lifestream, with WEAPONs, and with unknown cells are still being felt."

"But I don't want to repeat any of that." Lucrecia shook her head, face tilted down. "Now that we know better, shouldn't we look at the data in another way, and put it to better use?"

"What possible use can you think of to meddle with the planet's lifeblood, Lucrecia?"

"I... I don't _know_ , I'd have to see it and study it again."

"I should have destroyed it," Vincent murmured, sighing through his nose.

While Lucrecia wilted, giving up, Cid put his hands on his hips, glowering. "But ya fuckin' didn't. History's just gonna fuckin' repeat itself if we don't learn from it."

Vincent tipped his head back in order to stare down his nose without getting up. "And what do you propose, Highwind?"

"Ehh..." Cid rubbed along his jaw, scraping his fingers through stubble while frowning thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Lucrecia, get yer ass better first. Then figure out what the fuck your field is even doin' these days. Guessin' not fuckin' much."

"No, probably not..."

"Vincent, don't ya fuckin' dare destroy that shit. Ya ain't gotta give it to no one, but mebbe someone'll have a good goddamn reason to need to see it later. If not Lucrecia, then maybe someone else. Fuckin' planet's always gonna need lookin' after."

Vincent grunted quietly, but inclined his head, accepting Cid's opinion. "My apologies, Lucrecia."

"No... No, you're both right... There's so much I don't know still. I should focus on that first." Lucrecia nodded firmly, and reached out to pat at Vincent's knee, barely managing to brush her fingertips against it. "I'm trusting you to keep the data safe."

"I will do my best."

"Alright, I'm gonna fuck off and eat my own breakfast. Ya kids play nice."

"We're both older than you," Vincent muttered, as Cid bailed.

As he headed towards the stairs, Cid overheard Lucrecia say, "He really does swear all the time, huh?"

"Does it bother you?" Vincent asked.

"No, he's refreshingly honest."

With a snort, Cid went downstairs to eat his breakfast. Shera was just finishing hers when he sat down. She waved vaguely with her nearly empty tea mug and picked up her laptop.

"I think I need... a nap. A really long one."

"Yeah? Fuck off, then, and get some rest."

"Good night, Captain. Or morning. Whatever." Shera wandered upstairs, wobbling a little and leaning heavily on the railing.

Cid watched her go, chewing thoughtfully. When she did not stumble and fall, he relaxed, focusing entirely on eating. After he'd finished his breakfast, he cleaned up, storing leftovers and doing the dishes.

And then, since he was alone and exhausted, he went into the living room and perused Shera's shelves. Familiar volumes of rocket science, car and airplane manuals, and even some of their own published works on the aforementioned subjects held no interest for him. His gaze wandered past the fiction entirely, skipped over the ethics and what he thought of as the _"how to be a less shitty boss"_ shelf, and settled on some of the newer offerings. She'd been reading up on drilling, of course, and geology and all that good shit. He had a few of the same books in his apartment.

No, what ended up catching his interest was the entire two shelves given over to alternative energy. Wind turbines, water, solar power, and more. He thought about groups like the Luz Vuelve falling back on what was easy and profitable, no matter the cost to the planet. If greed hadn't driven them to it, then insufficient energy had. As long as society failed to pick up the damn slack, more people would try the same.

Snagging a likely looking volume, titled _Going Green: Alternate Power_ , Cid wandered over to sprawl on the couch while he thumbed through it. It was dense reading that soon had him dozing.

He dreamed of empty, rolling hills covered in golden grass. Massive white turbines littered the countryside, their blades spinning steadily in the wind. Somehow he knew most humans were long gone, but the ruins still had power.

A red speck appeared on the horizon, coming closer. The cape flapped in the wind, barely more than streaming tatters. Vincent looked good, though, healthy and whole, with a prosthetic that didn't fuck his back up something fierce.

"Another year, Highwind," Vincent said, kneeling in front of him. His voice was rusty from disuse. "Everything still works. You should be proud."

He wanted to ask, but had no voice. He couldn't move, either. All he could do was watch.

Vincent let out a long, ragged sigh, looking up at the sky. The wind tugged at his hair, blowing it back behind him with the cape. "Waiting for you gets harder every time." He stretched out on the ground next to Cid. "I'm tired."

The realization that he was _dead_ , that Vincent was _waiting_ for him filled him with such abject horror that Cid jolted awake, falling off the couch. The book bounced off his knee and thumped onto the floor, pages fluttering.

"What the fuck," Cid said, very quiet, but with great feeling.

The clock on the mantle told him it was a little after 1300. With a grunt, he got up, putting the book back on the shelf, and went to make some tea. Weird ass dreams put him right off from napping any further. He wondered where everyone was and hoped they’d gotten better rest than he did.

Once he had a steaming mug of tea in hand, he returned to the living room to put the news on, keeping the volume off and the captions on. As expected, coverage of the Luz Vuelve story continued unabated. Cid watched for a few minutes, until they started rehashing the same footage, then dragged more of Shera’s books on alternate energy over for perusal.

He didn’t figure on going anywhere for the rest of the day and there wasn’t much else to do.


	48. no illusions

Shera's books were all dense, filled with complicated diagrams and concepts that would take Cid far longer than an idle afternoon to process. He skimmed most of it, got the gist, then moved on to browsing message boards on his phone when he got tired of holding heavy books.

More than once, he stumbled upon wild claims of conspiracy theories about how Meteorfall had been a ruse staged by the rich to deny the common man mako and good, steady electricity. Every time, Cid muffled his curses against his fist, fighting the urge to make accounts in order to blast the idiots. It wouldn't do any good. The damn proof was right in front of their noses and they ignored it.

For his trouble, he found several good breakdowns of how to construct solar panels, planting in a way that didn't destroy the soil, and even discussions on damage done to the atmosphere by pollution and what could be done about it. It seemed like green energy went hand in hand with a hippie lifestyle, which amused Cid to no end. He couldn't imagine meditating and eating nothing but plants.

In the background, the television continued to play different news pieces. It didn't always linger on the Luz Vuelve, but it almost always came back to it. Their influence was found all through North Corel. Dio was outed as having engaged in shady deals with them to smuggle illegal materia. Golden Saucer was temporarily closed. In Gongaga, the government was in an uproar as ties to the Luz Vuelve were discovered. Reeve had been incredibly busy, it seemed, and he wasn't likely to get a break anytime soon.

Cid went through a pot of tea, a bacon-lettuce-tomato sandwich, and the weird wasabi chips, which weren't half bad. When he started to get a handle on his reading, he went hunting for a pen and some sheets of paper so he could start taking notes.

By the time Shera came stumbling downstairs, looking exactly as run over as Cid's brain felt, he'd covered the coffee table, the couch, and even a large portion of the living room floor with his notes and doodles. She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, blinking sleepily, with a slow smile creeping onto her face as she realized what he'd done.

"Find something interesting, Captain?"

"...Just fuckin' 'round right now," he muttered, grabbing the papers up and stacking them up so he wasn't taking up so much of the room. "Ya want somethin' to eat?"

"Umm, sure, after coffee..." She went over to fill the coffee machine with water and grounds. As it burbled, she opened the fridge and peered in. "I've got some steaks?"

"Still got a grill?"

"Yes, it's in the workshop."

Cid got up and came into the kitchen to poke through her pantry. "Hey, alright, I'll grill the shit outta 'em. Whatcha want with?"

"What won't Vincent eat?"

"Uhh... The list he _will_ eat is smaller."

"Well, I've got, um... peas--"

"Nope, can't be in the same damn room or he'll go up in smoke."

Shera laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, there's corn on the cob."

"Ya got sweet potatoes in here," Cid said, lifting the bag.

"That'll do it, won't it?"

"Sure, lemme go get the grill set up."

The workshop attached to the house still had his old beat up roadster sitting in it, but otherwise all his stuff had been tossed in the smaller shed out back. Shera's personal projects and tools littered the workbenches and shelves. It looked like she'd been making an attempt at restoring a small yellow scooter in her free time; its engine lay in pieces on one of the benches.

Leaning stacks of cardboard boxes sat in one corner, labeled in her neat hand. Cid flicked one, amused at the label that said, _"Childhood"_ , knowing it was full of one part of her massive collection of action figures. It didn't seem prudent to have a figure of the General of ShinRa on display anymore, but he couldn't help but wonder what Lucrecia would think of the sheer amount of merchandising that used to exist for her son.

The grill was near the shed doors. Cid hit the button to raise the doors, then rolled the grill out onto the concrete. He went back into the workshop, hunting around until he found the propane tank and bucket of cleaning supplies. Getting the grill set up, cleaned, and fired up took him an enjoyable half hour or so. The tension headache he'd given himself for reading all day long faded as he gave his eyes a rest.

One moment he was alone, the next Vincent stood at his elbow, peering at the flickering flame. Cid jumped, dropped the cigarette he'd been about to light, and hissed, "Fucker!"

Vincent just looked at him with his head tilted. Huffy, Cid bent to grab the cigarette, lighting it and taking several puffs, glaring all the while his heart pounded.

"Shera says you are making dinner... and that I am to ensure you don't burn your eyebrows off."

"I ain't gonna fuckin'--!" Cid turned to glare at the house, holding the cigarette out to Vincent. "Doubtin' my goddamn grillin' skills, I oughta boot her ass to the moon."

"Guests should be kinder to their host," Vincent opined, accepting the cigarette. "She's in there with a copious amount of foil. Are we going to be eating food or aluminum?"

Laughing, Cid went to see what Shera was up to. Vincent stayed behind, watching the grill and enjoying the cigarette. Inside, Shera was in the process of prepping everything. She'd cleaned the sweet potatoes, cut a sliver down their middles, and wrapped them loosely in foil. When Cid stepped inside, she was in the middle of trimming off the trailing, flammable strands from the corn husks. The steaks sat out on the counter near a cutting board, as of yet untouched.

"Guess we can add foil to the 'Shit Vincent Won't Eat' list," Cid joked, going through Shera's seasoning cupboard.

"Goodness, I should _hope_ so."

Cid washed his hands, then coated the steaks with a generous amount of salt, black pepper, and paprika. As he washed his hands _again_ , Shera loaded everything up on a tray for him. She handed over a large pair of tongs and her apron, which had a cutesy picture of a rocket pop labeled _Rocket Science_ , each of its parts labeled with a flavor. Cid rolled his eyes, but let her put it on him.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Sure, just earnin' my damn keep."

"You hardly need to..."

"Gonna, so fuckin' deal with it."

Cid took up the tray of food and went out to the grill. Vincent still stood out there, his cape rustling in the cool evening breeze. The cigarette was down almost to the filter. He came closer to watch Cid put the corn and potatoes down first. The steaks were covered and would wait until near the very end.

"Didn't think to ask, Lucrecia'll eat this shit, right?"

Vincent shrugged, surrendering the cigarette. Cid took the last drag, then flicked it into the flames. He closed the grill up, settling his hands on his hips.

"Got time. Got a workshop right here. Wanna look at your arm?"

"If you insist."

They set up in the workshop on empty crates near one of the less cluttered tables with a movable lamp. Vincent threw his cloak back over his shoulder, then held the left arm out. Cid undid the knot at the end of the sleeve, rolled it up, then dragged the light over to have a closer look.

Under better lighting, Cid could see how large the chunk of broken metal wedged in the port was. He let out a low whistle, then got up to rifle through Shera's toolboxes and such to find something to try and get it out. Vincent sat back, lowering his arm, just in time to hide it from Shera as she peeked into the workshop.

"Looking for something, Cid?"

"Just borrowin' some tools for a minor fix, if ya don't mind."

"Oh, sure, um, most of the toolboxes are there," Shera said, pointing to one of the metal along one wall. "Are you looking for anything specific, or--?"

"Dunno yet."

"Okay, I just came to ask if you wanted me to make dessert."

"Hell yeah, whatcha gonna make?"

Shera folded her arm, cupping her elbow, and tapped her fingers against her cheeks. "I don't know..." Her gaze settled on Vincent. "Any input?"

"Not particularly."

"No? Hmm. I'll go ask Lucrecia, then."

Since his opinion wasn't asked for, Cid had busied himself with looking through the toolboxes again. He made a triumphant "Ah-hah," noise, brandishing a pair of pliers that looked to be the right size. Then paused, as both Shera and Vincent were staring. "...What?"

Shera giggled. "Nothing, Captain. Try not to make a mess!" She vanished into the house, shutting the door behind her.

“She’s damn cheerful all of a sudden,” Cid muttered, sitting on the crate across from Vincent again.

Vincent made a soft sound of agreement, gazing at the closed door as if he expected Shera to throw it open again. When she did not, he offered his arm up, allowing Cid to push the sleeve back once more.

"Far as I know, this won't hurt a bit, but ya just say somethin' if it does, alright?"

"Of course."

With a firm nod, Cid held the arm still with one hand, mindful not to squeeze too hard. He remembered how tender the flesh looked, chafed raw by constant exposure to metals without any lotion, and long damaged from the experiments. Vincent gazed on steadily, not tense and not prepared to flee at any given moment.

"Here we go," Cid murmured.

He caught the ragged edges of golden metal between the tips of the needle-nose pliers. He tugged gently, testing whether he could just pull it out altogether. It didn't budge.

"Stupid fuckin' piece of shit, c'mon outta there..."

Rather than yank and risk damaging anything further, he wiggled the metal back and forth, seeing if there was any give. On the downwards pull, it gave, sliding and unlatching. He popped the whole thing out with a satisfied grin.

"Hah, fuckin' take that!"

Cid held the scrap of metal up to the light, marveling at its size. As long as his middle finger, and almost as wide as his palm. Then he set it down on the nearby work table and double checked the connector port for any further damage. Aside from a few minor dings and scratches, everything seemed to be in order.

"That oughta do it, starshine."

"Thank you." Vincent allowed him to roll the sleeve back down and re-knot it before lowering his arm, pulling the cloak back around himself. "Perhaps Shera's good mood is for the same reason."

"What?"

Instead of answering outright, Vincent braced his hand on Cid's knee, leaning into his space. Warm, dry lips brushed against his brow.

"It's hard not to feel better when you're there to yell at everything until it cooperates, Chief."

Something warm and squirmy blossomed behind Cid's rib cage, making it hard to breathe. He coughed, glancing aside, and put on his cockiest grin.

"'Course, s'what I'm good at. No big deal."

A rattle at the door going inside made Vincent withdraw, ducking down into his cape. Shera opened the door a moment later, dressed in slacks and a sweater. She leaned on the doorknob with one hand, balancing on one foot to pull her too sensible shoes on.

"I'm going to make a run to the store," she said, patting at her pockets for her keys. "Do either of you need anything?"

"Nah-uh, I'm good," Cid answered, and Vincent shook his head faintly.

"Alright, well, Lucrecia's awake, so... keep an eye on her."

With extreme seriousness, Vincent said, "I will," as he rose from the crate, already moving towards the door.

"Okay, I'm off," Shera said, waving past Vincent, and then she headed off out the front door.

Cid heard her car start up a few minutes later, then the crunch of gravel as she pulled out. Vincent was already gone by then, vanished upstairs to look after Lucrecia. That left him alone to watch the grill and wait. He passed the time with a cigarette and idle thoughts of nothing much.

As the last of the sunlight vanished on the horizon, Cid turned the outside lights on and checked on the corn and potatoes.

"Hey!!" Yuffie called out, as she came up the driveway. "Are you guys ever gonna answer your phones?"

"Wasn't expectin' any damn calls." Cid nudged a foil-wrapped potato, turning it over. He propped the backs of his wrists against his hips with a frown as Yuffie came to peer into the grill. "Thought ya were headin' back home?"

"My flight got delayed." Yuffie shrugged. "Came to see if you guys wanted to get some celebratory grub, but I guess you're all set, huh?"

"If you're anglin' for a free meal, ya could just fuckin' say so. We made extras."

With a whoop of delight, Yuffie threw her fist into the air, jumping upwards. "Alright!!" On landing, she did a little twirl so that she came to a stop facing the garage. "Where's Vinny?"

"Inside, lookin' after Lucrecia."

"Oh! I should go introduce myself!"

Cid slammed the grill lid shut, slapped the tongs down on the tray, and grabbed Yuffie by the upper arm before she could take off. She yelped and flailed, but did not get away.

"Hey, what's the big idea!" she demanded.

"Uh. Don't... don't talk 'bout me and Vince, alright? Not to her."

"...What?" Yuffie gaped. "Is everything okay, are you guys still--? Oh, Gaia, he's still in love with her, after all this time, and it's over? Cid, I'm so--"

"S'not like that." Cid released Yuffie and shoved his hands in his pockets. Although he agreed to give it time, the whole situation still sucked. He looked up at the sky. "Just... She don't know. Yet."

"Uhhh... That seems like something you should maybe _tell_ her."

"Yeah. Gonna. Not fuckin' yet, alright?"

Yuffie patted at Cid's arm, a couple of nearly gentle swats. "Tell me if I need to put the hurt on Vinny for you, okay? I'm gonna go say hi."

"Thanks."

After Yuffie went inside, Cid checked the food again. Of course nothing was done, since it'd only been a couple of minutes since he last poked at it.

In fact, the vegetables didn't finish until well after Shera came back from the store, some thirty or forty minutes later. While she bustled around in the kitchen, preparing whatever dessert she'd decided on, Cid finally moved the veg to his tray and put the steaks on the grill.

He had no idea how Lucrecia liked her steaks, but he knew what Vincent liked. Cid settled one of the biggest pieces where the fire was hottest, intending to char the outside and leave the inside bloody. A quick one, two, and then he removed it, letting it rest on the tray. After turning the heat down some, he put the other steaks on, going for safely medium or medium well for the rest of them. Shera liked hers done to death, but Cid always firmly abstained. She could damn well boil her own gristle if that's what she wanted.

By the time he finished cooking and hauled it all indoors, Shera had her dessert in the oven and was cleaning up the mess from prep. Cid laid the tray out on the kitchen table.

"Oh, that looks good... Will you go see if they want to come down?"

"Ya think she's up for it?"

"Can't hurt to try, can it?" Shera shot back.

Cid shrugged, pulling the apron off and hanging it on its customary hook. "Guess not."

He headed upstairs as she set the table. Lucrecia's door was open all the way; even so, he knocked on the door frame and waited for her to call out, "Come in," before stepping into sight.

Vincent sat on the stool again, an attentive gargoyle with his cloak pooled around him like blood. Yuffie had the armchair, her legs flung over one arm. Lucrecia smiled brightly, if tiredly, on seeing who was knocking at her door. She was all bundled up, propped up with the laptop open on the tray again, some tinny little video playing. She paused it as Cid came closer to the bed.

"Dinner's ready. S'posed to invite y'all downstairs."

"Oh." Lucrecia glanced over at Vincent and Yuffie. "Go ahead, if you want to..."

"Nah-uh, I ain't stealin' them, lady. Invite's for everyone."

Yuffie bounced up out of her chair and out of the room, thundering down the stairs like a herd of chocobos. Distantly, Cid heard her crowing over the spread, followed by the rattle of dishes and the faint murmur of Shera’s voice.

"Um, I'm not... sure I can manage stairs right now," Lucrecia admitted, soft and ashamed, while picking at the covers.

"Pssht. Who's gonna fuckin' judge ya if ya need a lil help? Got two strong guys right here."

"Oh, but-- Vincent's... " She looked at the man in question, gaze dropping to the arm hidden beneath his cloak, then away. "...not a fan of touching, are you?"

Cid, having experienced first hand what Vincent could be like, and how much he did, in fact, enjoy touching, but only on his own terms, bit his tongue and said nothing. As if sensing how far south Cid's mind had gone, Vincent shot him a look.

"My bedside manner leaves much to be desired," Vincent admitted. "Sorry."

"No, no I didn't mean... It's really fine, Vincent!"

"Y'all damn ridiculous." Cid tsked loudly, grinning. "Ya wanna go downstairs or not, Lucrecia?"

"I... would like that, yes. If it's not too much trouble."

"First thing ya gotta know 'bout me is I ain't ever offer what I can't fuckin' provide."

Vincent rose from the stool, moving it and himself out of the way. Cid stepped up to the bedside, helping Lucrecia move the tray and the blankets out of the way. Then he scooped her up, squinting a little at how light she seemed. She hooked her arms around his neck, clinging a little tight. Behind them, Vincent lifted the IV bag from the stand, gently setting it onto Lucrecia's belly.

They made their way out of the room and down the stairs very carefully, with Vincent in the lead presumably to catch them if Cid lost his footing.

In the kitchen, Shera had the tea made, the potatoes peeled and mashed, the corn shucked with a couple cobs scraped into a bowl, and a mound of pillows and a throw from the living room. Yuffie finished laying out the last of the silverware with a flourish, grinning as she did it. Cid set Lucrecia down and got out of the way. Vincent watched from a respectful distance as Shera got Lucrecia situated, comfortable, and her IV bag disconnected and disposed of.

"There we go," Shera said. "Let's eat! C'mon, sit down, sit down, please.” She shooed Cid, Yuffie, and Vincent into their chairs before taking her own.

It was a nice, quiet dinner.

The two older women chatted back and forth--Lucrecia had endless questions about everything, and Shera was happy to answer. Occasionally, they turned on Cid, pressing him for answers they thought he'd have. At some point, he ended up explaining escape velocity and gravitational pull and how they calculated where a rocket was going to go, which led to discussions of whether mankind might ever reach nearby celestial bodies and what they might find there.

Yuffie busied herself with food, except when Lucrecia turned her endless questions towards the state of Wutai. Then the girl wouldn’t shut up, regaling them all with tales of her homeland and her people. But mostly about her own exploits, because she couldn’t help but be a braggart.

And all the while, Vincent watched, silent but attentive.

Occasionally, Lucrecia reached out to touch his elbow or the trailing edge of his mantle, and he let her without protest. Cid might have felt jealous, if not for the fact that Vincent's ankle was hooked around his own beneath the table.

Dessert was a rhubarb strawberry cobbler, with vanilla ice cream on the side. Both Lucrecia and Vincent demolished their portions, one with glowing praise and the other without complaint. As expected, Yuffie outdid them both, begging for seconds. Shera smiled big enough to make the dimple on her cheek visible.

After dinner, Cid helped Shera move Lucrecia into the living room so they could watch the news. Then he cleaned up the leftovers and did the dishes while Vincent did absolutely nothing to help. Yuffie sat with her head in her arms at the table, groaning because she’d eaten too much.

“Mebbe if ya knew what fuckin’ moderation was, ya wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess.”

“Uuugh, just leave me to die…”

“Can’t do. Ya wanna ride back to the inn?”

“ _Please_.”

Shaking his head, Cid grabbed his jacket from where he’d left it draped over the back of the couch. “Let’s go, then, kiddo.” He paused, frowning, because Shera and Lucrecia had his notes and were sharing grins over them. "Somethin' funny, girls?"

"Captain... your handwriting is as horrible as ever, that's all."

"I'm sorry," Lucrecia tittered. "I can't tell if this says chicken or something else."

"Ah, to hell with ya both."

Not particularly bothered, Cid exited out the workshop door. Inside, he heard Yuffie giving drawn out farewells, so he headed straight for the truck to get it started. The girl came out of the house eventually, her head down and her arms around her belly. She climbed into the truck to slouch down in her seat, listlessly pulling her seatbelt on only after Cid elbowed her.

Cid drove her to the inn and parked out front to let her out. “Take care, Yuffie.”

“You too, gramps.” Yuffie slapped the palm of her hand against the side of the truck. “Come to Wutai if Vinny breaks your heart. Fatten you up with Wutaiian barbeque.”

“Yeah… sure.”

For longer than strictly necessary, Cid idled out in front of the inn. He fidgeted with his lighter and thought about nothing in particular. Then, because Yuffie had long since gone inside and there was no need for him to stick around, he drove back to Shera’s.

After getting out of the truck, he took the time to drag the grill back inside, turned off the outer lights, and was about to shut the shed doors when Vincent stepped out of the gloom.

"Ya missed out on some prime Yuffie whinin’,” Cid joked. “Or didja come to steal my smokes again like a fuckin’ thief in the night?”

"I thought I might, yes."

"Gonna hafta start payin' me."

Vincent lifted the edge of his cloak, displaying how little he possessed in material wealth. Cid snorted, yanking the shed doors shut once they were both out of the workshop.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I ain't wantin' your goddamn money anyway."

"Hmm... Risky business, Chief, propositioning me here."

"Toldja I ain't good at sneakin' around."

Tipping his head back, Vincent regarded the sky. "It's a clear night out." Then he swept up through the air, cloak swirling silently. He landed gracefully on the edge of the roof, peering down at Cid.

Cid's jump had less grace but more airtime. He sailed through the air, feeling it ruffle his hair, and breathed deep, feeling the refreshing cold deep in his lungs. His landing was neat, somehow managing not to crack the roof tiles.

"How long ya think we got before Shera fuckin' notices us goofin' 'round on her roof?"

"I won't tell her if you don't."

With a quiet snort, Cid moved to the flattest spot and flopped down, leaning back on his hands so he could look up at the stars. Vincent settled next to him, on his left, close enough that their arms bumped together.

"What were they reading?" Vincent asked, after a while. “In the living room.”

"Ehh, shit 'bout alternate energy. Helps me think, puttin' shit down to paper."

"What is it?"

"Yanno, windmills and solar panels and shit that don't bleed the planet dry. Oil ain't gonna last, so people're thinkin' 'bout what the fuck the next thing's gonna be."

"Hmm. Humanity does need to find a way to redeem itself."

"Sure as fuck does. S'pretty interestin' stuff, I guess."

Cid pulled his cigarettes and lighter out, lighting one up. He exhaled the first puff of smoke skywards, watched it disperse among the stars. A heavy weight settled against his shoulder, long hair trailing and tickling against his neck.

"Tired?"

"Mhm."

"C'mon then, get comfy."

He tugged at the cape, coaxing Vincent around until they ended up sprawled on the roof with him using Cid as a pillow. Red eyes closed and Vincent slept, at least for a little while.


	49. for better or worse

The weekend passed without incident.

Lucrecia got better every day; soon, she didn't need the IV at all, and she could manage getting up and walking around on her own. The only thing she needed help with were the stairs. She preferred to be downstairs whenever possible, commenting that she felt less alone there. Most of the time, she stayed in the living room, watching tv or poring through Shera's books. Sometimes, she sat out in the yard, her face turned up to the sun, eyes closed as she basked.

Vincent always stayed in her shadow, ever watchful. He only ever left her side when she was asleep or when she shooed him away. In those moments, he usually came to Cid, but sometimes he vanished, going off on his lonesome to do whatever he did to recharge from constantly being around others.

Cid kept himself busy with odd jobs around the house. He fixed leaky faucets, repaired the roof, puttered around the yard aimlessly. He did not touch Shera's unfinished scooter in the workshop, respecting that it was a personal project, but he did have a look at the old roadster, tallying up the parts he'd need. Being homebound and domestic wore his patience thin, but he could think of nothing else he wanted to do instead. At night, he climbed onto the roof and stargazed, and then went to sleep on the couch and didn’t think about the warm bed and warm body he could have had instead.

Yuffie sent an endless stream of texts, usually with photographs. She was busy in Wutai, but not so busy that she couldn’t harass Cid on an hourly basis. Frequently, she pestered to know whether Vincent had found his phone. Of course he never did. Sometimes, Cid sent pictures back-- Vincent asleep on the couch, the sunrise behind the rusting rocket supports, Shera and Lucrecia in the backyard. He never took pictures of himself, and Yuffie never hassled him about it.

Shera did as Shera always did, bustling and fussing over them all between her work duties, which didn't quit just because it was the weekend. Whenever she had the time, she usually ended up keeping Lucrecia company.

The local doctor showed up, did a thorough check of Lucrecia's health, and made quite a lot of noise about how quickly she recovered, and whether she'd been part of SOLDIER, or Gaia forbid, that dreadful Luz Vuelve group. Luckily Cid was in the middle of eating, or he might have given the doctor a piece of his mind. Shera handled it with grace, ushering the doctor out the door as soon as he'd removed Lucrecia's IV and declared that she would be able to go back to work after another few days of bed rest.

"Work... What kind of work would I even _do_?" Lucrecia wondered, after the doctor had gone.

"You could come in with me to see Highwind Enterprises," Shera offered. "You may not be mechanically inclined, but we can put you in touch with the WRO for other opportunities."

"Oh... I think I'd like that. Thank you."

With Lucrecia declared fit, Vincent pulled Cid outside that evening. "I'll be overnight to Nibelheim."

"What, tonight? No rest?"

"I will sleep in my own bed."

"Alright." Sighing, Cid slung his arm around Vincent's shoulders. "Make sure ya fuckin' eat somethin'. And find yer damn phone, asshole."

"Sure, Chief."

"Come back safely."

Vincent settled his hand over Cid's dog tags, met his gaze for a long moment, and then whirled away, zipping through the sky. Cid watched the streak of red until it was out of sight, then went back inside.

"Vincent's gone," he told the two women on the couch.

Lucrecia's eyes widened. She looked shaken and pale. "Gone?"

"When will he be back?" Shera asked.

"Shouldn't be too fuckin' long. He just goin' to pick somethin' up, no big deal."

The tension drained out of Lucrecia in a loud exhale. "Oh." She smiled shakily when Shera patted her knee. "Sorry, I'm so jumpy. I thought-- well. I may have said some things that upset him..."

Frowning, Cid headed for the kitchen for some tea. "Like what?"

"Umm... I asked him, if he... had been waiting for me." In the pause that followed, she shifted around noisily. "Um, romantically, that is."

While Cid coughed into his fist and busied himself with pouring out some of the already made tea, Shera pressed Lucrecia with, "And?"

"Well, he, ah, got this very... I don't know, he's so hard to read now. He became quite cold. When I told him I wasn’t… certain that I felt that way about him anymore, he... left. We haven't spoken all day, and then Cid came in and said he'd _gone_ , I feared I'd chased him off and, and he's the only other person from back then, I just--"

Unable to deal with the weeping that followed, Cid took his tea and his cigarettes and went outside. If Cid stayed, he might end up blurting that Vincent had probably panicked and fled because he'd already reached the same conclusion. Better to leave well enough alone and trust Shera to handle it.

Sleep became hard to come by that night. Cid lay awake on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and pretended not to check his phone every few minutes. He didn't really think Vincent would contact anyone at all, but he hoped he would be the exception.

A stupid hope.

He started awake late in the morning to his phone blasting "Let 'Er Rip". Cid fumbled for it and tapped the call button before he was fully awake.

"Uh?"

"Mr. Highwind," Elena said. "Do you know where Mr. Valentine is?"

"Nibelheim." Cid got up in a hurry, already getting a bad feeling. He stomped into his boots, not bothering to tie up yet, and went hunting for his jacket and keys. "Why the hell ya callin' me?"

"Mr. Valentine expressed the wish that if something should happen, you are to be treated as his next of kin."

"What's fuckin' goin' on?!"

Lucrecia stood at the top of the stairs, clutching the banister. She stared down worriedly. Cid shot a look up at her, dragging his hand through his hair, and shook his head sharply, mouthing an apology for being so noisy.

"I'm not certain, sir," Elena admitted. "He sent me two photographs and then... well, maybe you'd better turn the tv on."

Feeling like he waded through the particularly horrible slow molasses feeling of a bad dream, Cid approached the television. He turned it on, flicking through the channels, until he found a panning aerial shot of Nibelheim and the jagged mountains surrounding. The banner at the bottom of the screen read, _"Mysterious Beast on the Loose"_.

"Fuck."

"I'm going to send you the photographs, perhaps you can make better sense of them. Please call me back when you've seen."

"Uh-huh, sure fuckin' thing," Cid muttered, hanging up. He had no intention of calling back.

"Vincent," Lucrecia murmured. She hadn't moved, unable to descend the stairs on her own. "Are you going after him?"

"...Yeah. Shera went to fuckin' work, didn't she, fuck. Can't leave your ass alone."

"Take me with."

"In your goddamn state?"

"I want to help Vincent," she insisted.

"Get yer ass ready."

As Lucrecia hurried off as quick as she could without tripping over herself, his phone buzzed twice for new text messages. He lifted it, tapping the notification to bring up a conversation with Elena. She'd sent the photographs, as promised.

The first was a dark, blurry image of collapsed wood and smoldering orange embers. Cid only recognized it as Vincent's cabin after spotting the scattered, overturned plant pots, including one kitschy cat-shaped one he'd given his friend as a joke one birthday.

The second showed the charred floorboards surrounding the basement hatch, which had been ripped open. The thing that filled Cid with disquiet was a shattered lantern lying near the entrance, the probable cause of the fire.

A slow, cold fury settled over him. Cid went upstairs to help Lucrecia put shoes and one of Shera's heavy jackets on, then carried her out to the truck. After checking that he had his spear in the back, he drove them to the airport, not even slowing for the usual niceties at the guard booth. He pulled up outside the hangar that held the _Altitude_ and jumped out without shutting the truck engine off.

"Wait here," he shouted over his shoulder, leaving Lucrecia in the warm safety of the truck cabin while he went to get the plane ready.

As fast as he possibly could, he had them loaded up and in the air, flying towards Nibelheim. Lucrecia sat hunched in on herself, staring blankly out at the skyline. She was the picture of fearful worry. Cid glowered straight ahead, drumming his fingers against the yoke, and refused to give his own worry an inch.

As they neared Mt Nibel airspace, Cid spotted circling helicopters in the distance. One of them hailed him with, "New arrival, this airspace is under the jurisdiction of the WRO. Please identify yourself."

"This is the goddamn _Altitude_ , outta Rocket Town. Where the fuck do I land?"

" _Altitude_ , you cannot land here right now. Please turn back."

"I'm Captain Cid Highwind and I can fuckin' land wherever the fuck I goddamn please!" he snarled. "Get your fuckin' birds outta my way."

He snapped the radio off so he didn't have to listen to the consternation of murmuring voices on the other end any longer. It was stupid and reckless, but, well, Vincent always said he was reckless. Pushing the yoke down, he aimed the plane at the ground, coming in for a hard and fast landing before the WRO could do anything to stop him. The _Altitude_ touched down on the main road leading into Nibelheim and came to a neat stop just short of the town sign.

"Iunno where the fuck Vincent's taken off to, but let's go check the cabin first, alright?" he told Lucrecia.

"Should I stay behind? It occurs to me that I might slow you down..."

"Too fuckin' late to have doubts now, lady."

Cid grabbed his spear, hopped out of the plane, and went around to help Lucrecia out. He dug up the leather straps for his spear and slung it on his back.

"...Shit, neither of us told Shera." Cid pulled his phone out and passed it to Lucrecia. "Here, call her. And hang the fuck onto me."

Since she still couldn't walk very fast, he saw no other choice but to pick her up, bridal style. She slung one arm around his neck and clutched the phone tight against her belly when he crouched and leapt high into the air. Her surprised shout echoed, making the people below look up in alarm. Cid whooped as they flew through the air and landed on a nearby roof.

"Oh my goodness," Lucrecia wheezed. "This is insane!"

The next time he jumped, her shout gave away to delighted laughter. Cid grinned, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. They passed over WRO agents and civilians alike. Getting to what remained of Vincent's cabin took no time at all. Cid landed in the midst of a cluster of agents picking the place over for clues.

"S-sir?!" one of the agents started, eyes wide. "You can't--"

"That's Captain Cid Highwind," another agent said, elbowing the first. She saluted smartly. "Sir!"

Gently, Cid set Lucrecia down on her feet. "Call Shera," he reminded, then stepped up to deal with the WRO. "What the fuck's goin' on 'round here?"

"It seems that someone burned Vincent Valentine's residence down sometime yesterday, sir. They ransacked his private collection."

"Private collection?" Cid gazed at the smoking ruins, thinking of the other man's heap of paperbacks. He didn't think anyone would want _that_.

"Mr. Valentine inherited a number of sensitive materials from the former president of ShinRa, as part of an act of reparation."

"Oh, shit, right. So, what the fuck, someone came and fuckin'... how the fuck did they even _know_?"

"They may not have, sir," the agent answered. "They may have come for unrelated reasons and only happened upon those documents."

Behind him, Lucrecia held a murmured conversation with Shera, assuring her that they were both fine and would be home as soon as they found Vincent. Cid tilted his head back, looking skyward. He thought about the shattered lantern in Vincent's photograph. The style was not something Vincent owned. It was, in fact, something he commonly saw during their stay in Costa del Sol.

"The bastards came lookin' for revenge, huh?"

"Sir?"

Cid turned an icy gaze onto the agents. "So why the fuck's the news sayin' a beast's gone rampant and there's a hunt on for it?"

"Ah... That is... There's been a murder, sir. The John Doe was ripped to pieces by a large purple and red beast, which was last seen going into the mountains..."

"Fuuuck. Where's the body?"

"In the square, sir. Would you, by chance, be able to identify it?"

"Don't fuckin' know. Y'all got a vehicle I can borrow?"

The first agent, the one that tried to turn him away, fumbled for his keys and held them out. "It's that blue truck there. Good luck, sir."

"Yeah, thanks." Cid accepted the keys and walked over to Lucrecia. "Got a better ride than my ass."

"Shera said 'good luck' and that she'll see us soon."

"Good. Let's fuckin' go."

The truck was one of those tiny two passenger ones that left barely an inch of space between passenger and driver. It was meant for narrow streets and trails, with four wheel drive. Perfect for navigating Mt Nibel. Cid threw his spear in the bed before getting in and starting it up. As soon as Lucrecia got in and strapped in, he drove back into town.

"Prolly a good fuckin' thing you came, Lucrecia."

"Why?"

"Lookin' a lot like the fuckin' Luz Vuelve ain't done with us yet... and Vincent might need more'n one friendly face to slap some sense back into him."

Lucrecia turned her head to gaze out at the houses they passed. "Vincent..." She rested her cheek against her knuckles, elbow propped against the window. "This place has changed so much. Please tell me you can find him."

"I always do."

A barricade of people and saw horses blocked their way near the town square. Cid rolled the window down and leaned out to shout, "Get the fuck outta my way or get run the hell over!" and then nudged the truck forward, going slow enough that even a snail could dodge.

The crowd parted all the way up to the saw horses, and then the WRO line stubbornly refused to move. They trained automatic rifles on him. One agent strode around to the driver's side, expression thunderous.

"What do you think you're doing, sir?"

"The fuck's it look like? I'm tryin' to get by."

"You cannot pass through here!"

"How many fuckin' times am I gonna have to say it today? Fuck, y'all numbskulls today." Cid shook his head, scoffing. "I'm Captain Cid Highwind. Call goddamn Reeve up and tell his ass to gimme clearance."

"Sir, hold on a minute," the agent said, clearly annoyed.

Nevertheless, the agent was willing enough to pull his cellphone out to make the call. He stepped away from the truck, cupping his hands around the phone so he could hear.

"All this is because of Vincent?" Lucrecia wondered.

"He's got a way of landin' in the thick of some real goddamn messes, yeah."

A few minutes later, the agent came back, looking even madder than before. "Sir, clearance has been granted. Forgive my rudeness, sir." He saluted sharply, then stomped off to relay the new orders.

Cid couldn't help but grin, all teeth and mean glee. He flipped the WRO off as he drove by them, just for wasting his time.

As he turned the truck towards the road leading up into the mountains, they passed by a cluster of agents bustling around a body beneath a white sheet. It lay in the shadow of the water tower. Blood spattered charred cobblestones in a huge radius. Cid's curiosity about who was under there wasn't enough to make him stop. Lucrecia shifted in her seat to stare, but said nothing.

Back when the WRO came through the mountains to dismantle the Nibelheim reactor, they'd widened and paved many of the old trails. They still wound around the jagged peaks and spiky rocks in treacherous loops and whorls, but as long as Cid didn't gun it, there was little danger. The WRO even replaced the old, rickety rope bridge with a proper steel and concrete construction.

They drove by other blockades but weren't stopped. The WRO didn't seem to be making much of an effort to pursue Vincent so much as they were trying to stop civilians from putting themselves in danger.

Cid glanced up at the sky, taking in the dark, heavy clouds. The higher up they went into the mountains, the colder it became. When Lucrecia reached out to turn the truck's heater on, Cid didn't protest. Not long after, big, slow snowflakes began to drift down.

"Just our fuckin' luck."

On the other side of the bridge, Cid slowed to a stop. A thick, dark blood trail ran off the road, leading to the slumped body of a woman. He would have driven on, if not for the fact that she lifted one hand a few inches, then let it drop back into her lap.

"Cid? Please don't leave her."

"Not gonna," he promised. "Stay in here."

He got out of the truck, grabbed his spear from the back, and approached the woman slowly. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. Cid knelt by her and realized that her hair wasn't just caked in blood, it was naturally red.

"...Kiran?"

Her left eyelid fluttered as she struggled to open it. "Hhgk," she managed.

Aside from a swollen knot of split, bleeding skin on her temple, two long, thin cuts curved from her right shoulder, over her torso and belly, down to her left hip. They were not jagged cuts, and there weren't enough of them to suggest claws. Whoever or whatever had done this to her, it couldn't have been the Galian Beast.

Cid held his spear over her, activating the Cure materia with as much focus as he could. The shimmer of lights dropped over her like a snowdrift, heavy and solid. She sucked in a sharp gasp, eyes going wide, as her wounds sealed up too quick, with too much force. Kiran's eyes rolled up and she slumped forward, losing consciousness but not her life.

Not willing to leave her out in the cold with the risk of some monster finding her, Cid slung his spear at his back and gathered her up. There was no room for her in the cab, so he put her in the bed. A dented white toolbox was secured below the back windows, with a tarp wedged between it and the cab. Cid tugged the tarp loose and draped it over Kiran, tucking the edges under her.

As he didn't trust Kiran any further than he could throw the truck, Cid passed his spear to Lucrecia rather than put it in the back again. With so little room in the cab, they had to sit with it across their laps.

"Is she going to be okay?"

"S'long as we don't get caught in a fuckin' blizzard."

As they drove on, Lucrecia watched the sky worriedly, twisting the hem of Shera's coat this way and that between white-knuckled hands. The snow came faster and thicker, but the wind did not pick up yet.

Cid focused on the road ahead. His thoughts kept circling around to the possibility that they might not find anything else, that they could be too late, that Vincent was long gone and never coming back. None of them had ever been allowed genuine happiness before and they'd gotten too complacent thinking they ever would be. Then he got mad at himself because it didn't do a damn bit of good to be such a naysayer. He was going to find Vincent and everything was going to be fine, even if he had to fight tooth and nail for it.

The paved road gave away to gravel. Between the well worn dips where cars had driven before, Cid spotted deep grooves where something heavy had kicked up the gravel to reveal the hard packed dirt beneath. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He did not allow himself to punch the gas, no matter how painful it was to keep creeping along.

The road slanted up at a sharp angle, curving along the edge of a precarious cliff. Ahead of them loomed a sheer cliff wall, bristling with Mt Nibel's signature spikes. In the shadow of the cliff sat a flat stretch of rock where the reactor used to be. Nothing remained but a concrete platform and a plaque.

An abandoned truck idled in the middle of the road, its doors thrown open. A blond woman knelt in the dirt by the road, clutching her belly. Another woman stood on the platform, her arms spread, holding up two long, thin swords. The body of a man lay at her feet, oozing blood.

And there, snarling and pacing around the platform on three legs, was the beast. It streamed smoke from its maw, not yet spitting fire but getting ready to. The woman with the swords turned in place to keep the beast in her sights.

Cid slammed the brakes and threw himself out of the truck. Lucrecia tossed the spear after him; he caught it without really looking, already running to check the woman by the road. Vivian lifted her head, staring at him with glassy eyes.

"Oh... It's you." She grimaced around a mouthful of blood. "Sorry about... everything."

"Don't talk like ya fuckin' dyin'."

"No point in going on," she retorted. "Not... without--"

"Yeah, whatever, she's in the truck and she's gonna be right as fuckin' rain."

Vivian blinked, stared some more, and then turned her head numbly towards the truck. Another blink, and then she shook her head, spitting up more blood. "That's not--"

"No, dumbass, in the _back_. Fuck, gotta do all the damn thinkin' for everybody 'round here." As he grumbled, Cid cast Cure over her. 

As with Kiran, it hit Vivian like an avalanche. She fell over, unconscious, as neatly as if he'd been trying to cast Sleep. The wounds on her stomach closed up, preventing her internal organs from spilling out.

Cid looked over his shoulder, watching as the beast snarled and tried to lunge at the swordswoman. She was too fast, spinning and whirling and slashing. Not even the threat of fire slowed her any; she swatted it away, dispersing it with the sheer force of her cuts, which made the air eddy around them.

"Fuuuck."

Hurriedly, he gathered Vivian up and stowed her in the back, under the tarp with Kiran. 

"If I tell ya to stay the fuck here, are ya gonna?" he asked Lucrecia.

She shook her head. "That's... Serafina, isn't it? Maybe I can talk some sense into her..."

"Fuck, alright, I don't think she's gonna fuckin' listen when she's got the beast snappin' at her goddamn heels, so just... gimme time to get Vincent outta the way, okay?"

"Okay."

“Don’t fuckin’ do anything I wouldn’t,” he added, with a vicious grin.

Lucrecia smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. “I think the sky might be the limit, if that’s the case…”

“Damn right.”

Cid slammed the truck door, then threw himself through the air. He landed heavily on the platform behind the woman, cracking bloodied concrete from the sheer force. She staggered and whirled, blades singing as she swung them. Sparks flew as he blocked it with his spear, vibrations rattling up his arms and into his teeth.

“You--” Serafina hissed, furious at recognizing him.

The beast roared with triumph as it lunged.

What Cid should have done was nothing at all. He should have stayed put and let the beast maul Serafina, putting an end to everything right then and there.

His body moved before rational thought could catch up. He kicked Serafina's left leg out from under her, then as she lost her balance and stumbled to the side, threw himself in between her and the beast. Claws and teeth and fire came straight at him and he had no defense against it.

As the Galian Beast slammed into him, he met the red eyed gaze and saw the pupils dilating, recognition registering too late. The fire burned through his jacket, seared through flesh. Cid screamed as he collapsed under the weight of the monster.

A torrent of shadowy energy whipped around the beast's form just as the claws sank into Cid's shoulder; the talons disintegrated, leaving behind pale fingers that gripped him too tight but didn't rend and tear. The beast shrank down, vanishing as if it'd never existed, and in its place, Vincent crouched over Cid, shaking under the weight of his cloak and of what he'd done.

Agony bubbled and popped and _crawled_ all along his front. Nevertheless, Cid struggled to remain conscious, staring up at Vincent's face through the haze of tears and the dark spots of unconsciousness threatening to drag him under. He lifted his hand, fingers shaking, but never quite managed to touch Vincent's cheek.

"Cid, please-- don't."

"You got what you deserved," Serafina said, rising to her feet off to the side. "You took _everything_ from me. You and your WRO..."

Cid couldn't turn his head, but he rolled his eyes around to glower in her general direction. "Ff... fuuhgck ya."

As consciousness slipped away from him, he thought he saw the blurry form of sweet pea coming up behind Serafina. He heard the rumble of the beast, a sharp metallic clang and crack of bone, a muffled gurgle, and the sound of something hitting the ground.

Then he was gone, lost in a cold darkness, free of the pain. Distant, echoing gunshots reverberated around him before total silence descended, leaving him with nothing at all.


	50. if i fall

His first thought, before he'd even remembered his own name was, _Oh fuck this nonsense_. Then came the understanding that he floated in glowing mako-infused liquid, with a tube down his throat and countless wires stuck to him and not a shred of decency to his name.

His second thought was, _Can't a fuckin' guy catch a goddamn break?_

Before he could act on the third thought, which was to punch the glass keeping him inside the tube, he spotted a familiar blur of red. Cid put his palm to the glass, fingers splayed. After a moment, a pale hand settled against on the other side. Vincent rested his forehead against the glass, looking drawn and exhausted.

More than anything, Cid wanted to hold him. As he reached for the wires, beginning to pull them loose, Vincent straightened, shaking his head sharply, mouthing _No_ and _wait_. Cid subsided, glaring off to the side sulkily because he couldn't swear as loud and as verbally as he wanted.

He caught sight of Lucrecia nearby, hunched over a computer console. She waved excitedly, then pointed at the console, saying something, but through the glass and the liquid, Cid couldn't make it out. He looked at Vincent, who mouthed again, _wait_ , and something else that made Cid's heart tight and warm and fluttery.

Waiting was boring.

With no concept of time and nothing to do but float there and watch Vincent and Lucrecia, neither of whom were doing much, Cid let his thoughts wander. His memories came back in bits and pieces, slotting into place easier than before. Better, in fact, as he finally recalled the name of a stupid song he'd heard on the radio while fixing Shera's kitchen faucet. A useless, inane factoid to think of right then, but he felt some satisfaction in it anyway.

He knocked his knuckles against the glass, getting Vincent's attention. Once the other man came close enough, Cid used his finger tip to tap out a message. Three long delayed taps, two short, a pause, one long, four short, another pause, two long, three short.

Vincent thunked his forehead against the glass in the middle of the message. Cid snorted with amusement, bubbles rising from his nose. His merriment only grew when Vincent finished tapping the rest of the numbers out.

Then, with eyes nearly slanted shut, Vincent added one short, one long, one short, a pause, two short-- _Ridiculous._

Glancing to the side, where Lucrecia still fiddled with the console, Cid asked the question he dreaded the answer to: _How long?_

_One week._

Cid thunked his fist against the glass before he realized what he was doing, startling both himself and Lucrecia. Somehow, he managed not to crack it. Vincent stared at the imprint of Cid’s fist flattened against the glass, then tenderly laid his palm there. Without taking his gaze off of Cid, he turned his head slightly, speaking to Lucrecia. She seemed especially alarmed at the outburst, but soon settled down at whatever Vincent said.

 _I’m sorry,_ Vincent drummed out.

_Why?_

Shaking his head, Vincent withdrew. No matter how much Cid tapped or gestured, he would not come closer, retreating all the way into the shadows until he was nothing more than a faint red blur on the far side of the room.

Something cold and afraid sank its claws into his rib cage, pulling inwards until Cid felt like he was physically being stabbed in the lungs and gut. Beyond his watery prison, Lucrecia gestured frantically, pounding at the keys as red lights flashed alarmingly on her screen. The liquid around Cid began to heat up; soon all he could see and feel were the bubbles boiling around him. Yet, he felt nothing but the cold and the slow creep of darkness at the edge of his vision.

He passed out, sinking into sweet oblivion once more.

Total darkness did not await him in his dreams. Cid stood in the endless flower field, squinting up at the blank white sky to keep from focusing too hard on how everything seemed ringed in lens flare, blurred at the edges and shifting just out of focus whenever he looked too closely. It was nauseating and disorienting.

"You know, I think that man doesn't know how to let anything go," sweet pea said.

"...Me either."

She laughed, flicking at the blazing pink brand around his arm. "I can see that."

"So what's the deal here?"

"You're already dead, you know."

Cid whirled towards her voice, but she stayed just out of direct line of sight. No matter how he turned, he just couldn't look directly at her.

It wasn't really just her, anyway. He felt the immense pressure of a thousand thousand eyes and souls all lined up behind her. Generations of Cetra, all gathered into one voice, one face, one will.

"What the fuck?"

"Sorry. But it's okay, you just need to wake up."

The air became thick and wet, and it was hard to breathe with something solid filling his throat, and the flower field faded away, leaving him floating not in a thick black void but in the shimmering blue light of mako. Cid squinted, willing the bleary images to collude into one.

A woman with long brown hair stood before him. Her eyes were brown ringed in green-- the cat green of one snared by Jenova. Lucrecia. She held up a large notepad with blocky black letters written on the page. It took Cid a moment to process what it said.

{What is your name?}

Blinking, he touched the tube in his mouth, but thought better of trying to pull it out. She wouldn't be able to hear him through the liquid and the glass anyway. He tapped out his first name against the glass. She frowned, spoke to someone over her shoulder, then shrugged helplessly. With a frustrated snort, Cid traced the letters out against the glass, big and obvious. That got a big thumbs up.

{How old are you?} was the next question. {Your D.o.B}

_37\. February 22nd._

{Do you want to come out?}

 _Yes,_ he slapped the flat of his hand against the glass. _Yes, yes, yes._

Lucrecia nodded, mouthed, _wait,_ and hurried towards her console. She tossed the notebook down into the chair and bent over the keyboard, pressing buttons rapidly.

Soon, the tank gurgled, the liquid draining away. Cid sank with gravity, landed on bare feet and trembly legs, and could not remain upright. He ended up crouched at the bottom of the tank, struggling to let the machine continue to breathe for him while his head spun. Plain, warm water sprayed from overhead, rinsing him completely. It ended quickly, leaving him shivering.

The glass hissed open and Lucrecia worked quickly to remove the wires and tube. She rubbed his shoulder soothingly as he hacked and coughed, doubled over to spit up bile.

"I'm so sorry, Cid," she said. "I did the only thing I could think of, and... I'm just so sorry."

Cid lifted his head, leveling her with a baleful stare. He really wished people would stop fucking apologizing all the damn time, but he didn't have the voice to say so. His attention strayed to the figure cloaked in red looming behind her. Vincent had a couple of ragged towels in his hand, hanging limply by his side as he met Cid's gaze, eyes tight and mouth drawn down.

Lucrecia noticed with a soft, "Oh," and moved back, out of the way. Vincent crept forward, kneeling as if afraid of spooking Cid.

Wanting none of that, Cid grabbed him by the mantle, pulling weakly until Vincent came close. He ran his pruney fingers along pale cheeks, under the sharp jaw, and down to the pulse that thrummed a little too quick and hard. Vincent swallowed, gaze averted.

"Chief... I'm sorry. I should have let go."

Unable to make much more than a frustrated grunt that made it feel like his throat was being ripped to pieces, Cid tapped out, _Why_ against Vincent's neck.

"You're becoming less human," Vincent said, softly.

Cid blinked, and started, watching as tears slipped down from beneath heavy lashes. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but a hoarse wheeze. Fury built up as he clenched his teeth and withdrew, pushing away and trying to get to his feet on his own. But he couldn't, and that only made him madder. His thoughts became a litany of swears, all jumbled up and aimed at his own useless weakness.

The scratch of a towel being settled over his shoulders stilled him, though not his rage. The other towel got set in his lap, giving him a modicum of decency that seemed laughable now, if he'd been on display for more than a week.

Vincent would not look at him. Cid reached out, caught that narrow, pretty face between his hands, and forced Vincent to face him, to _look_. Blue eyes met red, briefly, before Vincent closed his eyes entirely.

Guilt and sorrow, and Cid couldn't figure out _why_. He glared over Vincent's shoulder, watching Lucrecia bustle around near the computer console. She wouldn't look at him either, and she was too far out of reach to make her do it.

With no glass and liquid obscuring his vision, he saw that the room was a narrow concrete box with open doorways on either side and smoke-stained stairs at one end leading up to a hatch. It reminded him of being beneath the lighthouse. That place didn't exist anymore, and he doubted that they would have taken him to any other Luz Vuelve hidey hole.

Frowning, Cid caught Vincent by the wrist, turning his hand so that his palm faced up. Slow and careful, he tapped out, _Do you still want me._

The way red eyes widened in alarm was reassuring. Hearing Vincent blurt, "Always," was better.

Cid gestured, raising his hands to indicate that he wanted up off of the cold metal, out of the damn test tube. Vincent hooked his arm around Cid's waist, hauling him up, and then stood steady while Cid struggled to stay upright without collapsing again. The towel in his lap fell away, since it hadn't been secured, but to hell with it anyway. Cid nudged at Vincent's shoulder, urging him on.

Step by painful step, with pins and needles shooting up his legs and his muscles trembling from the strain, they backed out of the tube and onto a cold concrete floor. Vincent helped him over to a hard wooden chair and sat him down. Before he could move back towards the tube, probably to get the stupid towel, Cid caught him by the cloak, tugging. Vincent hesitated, but came back, standing uncertainly in front of Cid.

"Do you want clothes?" Lucrecia asked, somewhere off to the left.

Cid shrugged; he kept his gaze on Vincent's face. While Lucrecia went off somewhere, Cid took Vincent by the wrist again, frowning with concentration as he flicked his fingertip against the middle of the pale palm.

_Why sorry._

"Cid... you died. Like I once did."

Fragmented, blurry memories of his dream-- no, his vision-- of meeting with sweet pea rose up. He nodded, absently, kind of understanding now. The concept of his death seemed abstract. Too unreal to process. He set it aside for the time being.

_What did she do. Chaos._

"No. Not that."

Vincent pulled his wrist free of Cid's grip, but not to get away. Instead, he knelt between Cid's legs, catching one of Cid's hands to place it against his sternum, over the dog tags.

With the steady beat under his palm, Cid relaxed some, letting out a long exhale and tension he hadn't been entirely aware of holding. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Vincent's, gazing searchingly while the other man struggled for words.

"Oh, um... I'll give you a moment?" Lucrecia blurted.

"No. I need help. I don't... know how to explain." Vincent sat back, looking over his shoulder. "He might finally like pants, too."

"Yes, um. Okay."

Lucrecia brought a bundle of clothes over, handing them over to Vincent. His clothes--familiar jeans, t-shirt, socks, boxers, leather jacket, and boots. Cid tilted his head, glancing between them and Lucrecia.

"Oh, Shera's visited as much as she can. She's not very happy about it, but she said she couldn't take time off."

Cid nodded. If she had done anything else, he would be inclined to kick her ass. Work always came first, if only because others were counting on her for their livelihoods. Moping around just because someone died was no way to live.

Lucrecia glanced at her wrist watch, its face resting on the inside of her wrist. "She should be calling to check up on us soon."

Vincent nudged at Cid's knee, holding up the boxers. With a grunt, Cid reluctantly accepted help getting dressed. He felt weak and tired and even just lifting his hips to yank the boxers up left him winded. He rolled his wrist at Lucrecia in a _go on_ gesture.

While he got dressed, Lucrecia paced in the background. "Okay, um, we managed to heal most of your wounds on site. You, ah, had some metal fused to your chest..."

Frowning, Cid pulled the hem of his shirt up to look at his chest. Hairless as the day he was born, with a crooked patch of raised skin running from his left collarbone down between his nipples to spread out over the right side of his stomach and ribs. The scar was smooth and slightly shiny, with pockmarked craters over his sternum.

The new scar bothered him less than the loss of his tags.

"We rushed you back into town, but you went into shock and we lost you at 1657. Your heart stopped."

Cid dropped the hem of his shirt, looking between Vincent's guarded expression to Lucrecia's faraway one. She distanced herself from the tragedy, reciting as if from rote memorization. Different than Vincent, who would wallow in it and say nothing at all.

"Using a combination of materia, I was able to restart your heart before two minutes elapsed, thus preventing brain death."

Pants were even more a bother than boxers. Cid braced himself against Vincent's shoulders as he stood and gingerly stepped one foot at a time into the pants. He let Vincent pull them up past his knees, then grabbed them and yanked them up the rest of the way so that he could sit. His head spun, sparks dancing across his vision. He slouched back, not buttoning up yet.

All the while, Lucrecia continued to speak. "We would have lost you again, but Serafina didn't totally trash the place... It was a miracle Vincent had a functioning rehabilitation chamber. I was able to reprogram it for our purposes and, well..."

Cid opened one eye at the bump of cloth against his ankle. Vincent held the socks up, then dropped them on the boots at Cid's faint head shake. They could wait.

What could not was knowing what they had actually _done_ that made them both so jumpy and shamefaced. Cid took a deep breath, buttoned his pants, and sat up. On the exhale, he waved his hand until Lucrecia noticed and stopped her pacing and muttering softly to herself, too unintelligible to make out.

 _What,_ Cid mouthed, frowning. _Did you DO._ He exaggerated the movement of his lips so that the question could not be misunderstood.

"Ummm." Biting her lip, Lucrecia started pacing again, going around a couple of crates near the test tube. One was empty; the other held a discarded pile of used mako batteries. "Well, there's only so much mako a human being can take before they begin to mutate. It wasn't enough. We needed to make it possible to saturate your system for full recovery without doing permanent damage."

"Our options were limited," Vincent said. His voice seemed to calm her, slowing her increasing pace.

"Right. With no god-like entities at our disposal, we had two choices of donor." Lucrecia held up a finger, tapping the tip of it to count off. "Me, with the risk of exposing you to the negative side effects of J Cells, namely Reunion."

Even before she named the other possibility, Cid felt his stomach clench, sinking. His gaze slid to Vincent.

"...Or Vincent. There are trace J Cells in his system, but they came after everything else. My theory is that Chaos may have altered them, negating the Reunion effect, which could have useful applications for preventing current survivors from relapsing..."

And off she was again, murmuring softly to herself.

Though it explained why the two were nervous and guilty, it seemed silly to Cid. He was still alive and lucid. Thoughtfully, he examined himself, inspecting his hands, arms, legs, feet... Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He ran his hands over his face, found that his scruff had gone a little fluffy in his week long nap. The mako might have sped the growth up. His hair was longer than he liked, too, curling around his ears.

It was his teeth that were different. He pushed his fingers into his mouth, finding ordinary molars but elongated, pointier canines. The incisors were sharper, too. Dropping his hands away, Cid worked his jaw, but found that his mouth felt no more crowded than usual.

Meeting Vincent's gaze, Cid wondered if that was all that changed. He reached out, tapping against Vincent's shoulder.

_Are my eyes different?_

"The glow is stronger."

Cid nodded, expecting that after so much mako exposure. He couldn't tell if anything not immediately visible had changed. His sinuses were raw and all he could smell was the coppery tang of blood and the stink of mako. His ears kept ringing intermittently, particularly when he tried to move and the vertigo sucker punched him.

"You are taking this calmly..."

Another nod, then a shrug. Cid didn't see the point in all this carrying on. He flapped his hand again until Lucrecia cut herself off. Then he touched the tips of his fingers against his chin, palm flat, and brought it outwards.

"Oh, do you know--?"

Cid made a sharp pinching motion, then wobbled his hand. Once again, he wished he had taken the time to learn more signs. Morse was easy, but tedious, and he was damn lucky Vincent knew it.

"Okay, um. Well. You're... welcome. Are you really okay with this? We don't... know the long term effects this will have or anything."

 _Long term effects,_ he mouthed, brow furrowing.

"Yes, you see, um, neither of us are aging... so far... But we don't exactly know how long that will last. Or if it will carry over to you, since you are, uh. Second generation, I suppose."

"We don't know if you will be plagued by monstrous transformations, either."

"Right, I don't _think_ so, but there's always--"

A phone rang, chiming with a familiar song that told Cid that not only was it his phone, but it was Shera calling.

"--the possibility," Lucrecia finished, hurrying over to answer the phone. "Shera, hi! He just woke up." She paused, listening. "No, um, he hasn't recovered his voice yet, but if you want-- yeah. Yeah, okay."

She hung up and brought the phone over, offering it. Cid accepted it, feeling the immediate buzz of text notifications.

Before that, though, he navigated to the phone's notepad, absently reaching out to catch Vincent by the cape before the man could make his escape. Tucking his tongue between his teeth, mindful not to bite too hard lest he make himself bleed, Cid typed. Then he showed it to Vincent, brows up.

{did it ever bother you that i could grow old?}

Vincent blinked, lips parting. He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he shook his head with exasperated fondness. "I cannot stop the flow of time, Chief. Regardless of the choices I make, you might die before me." Gently, he pressed his fingertips against Cid's pulse, right under his jaw. "I decided I would rather not live with the regret of not having done anything."

Cid raised a brow, glancing at Lucrecia. She cleared her throat, cheeks dark, as she looked off to the side.

"No way for her not to know at this point, Cid," Vincent muttered. "I was... not at my best when you were dying."

Wheezing laughter that hurt and made him cough, Cid hunched down. He ended up with his head resting against Vincent's shoulder, still clutching the phone as Shera buzzed away, trying to get him to respond.

Vincent never voiced his affection, not in the ordinary way people did. Always, he disguised those three little words behind different words, different actions. Right then, he dragged his fingers up along the back of Cid's neck, settling in still damp hair and pressed his lips against Cid's temple, mouthing the sentiment where no one else could see or hear.

Relaxing, Cid hummed croakily, slinging an arm around Vincent.


	51. knocked down

"We can't stay here," Lucrecia said, a few hours later. "There's only the one cot, and as your doctor, I'm prescribing bed rest until further notice."

Cid sat on the floor between Vincent's legs, leaning back against him with the cloak wrapped around them both. A pointy chin rested on his shoulder. He tapped out a reply to Shera, assuring her for the fifth time that he was fine, that they'd come home soon.

"You’re the boss, lady," he said, glancing up. His voice was still raspy and cracked, but getting stronger by the minute. "How long's this shit gonna take?"

"There's no way to know, this is kind of an experimental procedure, you know."

"Uh-huh. Well, let's fuckin' go somewhere with some goddamn tea and better sittin' arrangements. Not that ya ain't a good pillow, starshine, but my fuckin' ass is goin' numb."

"A terrible tragedy," Vincent deadpanned.

"Damn right."

Lucrecia shook her head, smiling, and came to help Vincent get Cid on his feet and into his boots. Cid grumbled the whole time, but didn't fight it, if only because falling on his ass would be more embarrassing.

"Hey, this is... yer basement, right, Vince?"

"Yes."

"So... did we lose the blueprints for your arm, when them fucks came 'round to screw everything up?"

"No."

"We managed to recover the databases from their truck," Lucrecia elaborated. "Each one is kind of heavy... Vincent, will you carry it?"

"If I must."

"Hell yeah!" Cid nudged his elbow against Vincent's ribs. "Can't let the trip be a total fuckin' waste."

At Lucrecia's gentle touch against his shoulder, urging him to take the chair, Cid sat down. He watched as Lucrecia and Vincent went to pack what few things they wanted to bring. They each ended up with a bag slung over their shoulders. Lucrecia carried Cid's spear. Vincent hefted the flat metal server up beneath his arm, clutching it like a book.

With one last glance around his basement, Vincent went upstairs first. Lucrecia helped Cid up the stairs next. More than once, he staggered and had to stop, leaning heavily on the railing, to catch his breath.

"Damn fuckin' shit," he complained, then muscled the rest of the way up.

They came out into the smoky ruins of the cabin. The place had been cleared so that all that remained were a few solid timbers and the floor. The bath house hadn't survived the fire, but the outhouse all the way at the back of the yard had.

A number of tents had been pitched in Vincent's front yard. WRO agents saluted as Vincent strode by.

"What's all this shit?"

"Security detail, I'm told," Lucrecia answered, voice pitched low like she didn't want the agents to hear. "You two have friends in high places?"

"Yeah, Reeve."

"They're supposed to keep watch until Vincent's ready to move everything, just in case..."

Cid grunted. He supposed installing new locks wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Too bad. He had a feeling Vincent _liked_ living there, at the edge of society and the edge of his past.

A car awaited them at the end of the drive, thankfully large enough for all three of them and their stuff. Surprisingly, it was Vincent that slid behind the wheel, after shedding his cloak and tucking it in the back seat.

Lucrecia helped Cid into the passenger seat before getting in the back.

"Ya can drive, starshine?"

"I was a Turk, Highwind."

"Sure, but ya also the king of technological distress."

"A car is not a miniature computer."

"Wanna fuckin' bet? Some of them these days, they got the whole damn shebang."

"I saw commercials for some of those," Lucrecia chimed in. "They look _really_ flashy..."

Sighing, Vincent put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. He was a slow, cautious driver, possibly because he hadn't driven anything in over thirty years, or because cars had changed a great deal since then, and or maybe even because the lack of his left hand threw him off.

"Ya got a favored car, Valentine?"

"They don't make them anymore."

"No shit. Restorin' classics is a thing people do, yanno."

"Hmm..."

"Why would anyone want to drive out of date technology when there's cars that come equipped with _computers_?" Lucrecia wondered.

Cid sputtered, caught between annoyance and amusement. "They don't fuckin' make 'em like they used to, is why!"

As they pulled into the parking lot behind the inn, Vincent admitted, “I had a MP Bandera.”

“Oh, shit, those are fuckin’ rad. What year?”

“1960.”

“Bet it was red.”

Lucrecia laughed. “It was _definitely_ red.”

Vincent shut the car off, and waited until Lucrecia had gotten out, taking her bag with her. "Is there something wrong with red?"

"Nah-uh." Cid braced his hand on the dash and leaned over to plant a kiss on Vincent's cheek, grinning.

They piled out of the car and into the inn. With so many WRO agents and reporters in the area, there was only the one room available. Thankfully, it had two doubles. Cid sprawled on one immediately, watching Vincent and Lucrecia awkwardly dodge around one another as they got settled.

"Sorry," Lucrecia said, "I know this is a little weird..."

"I ain't uncomfortable if ya ain't."

She blinked at that, tilting her head. The furtive glances she cast between Vincent and Cid were loaded with silent insinuation.

"You... might want some privacy?"

Cid rolled his eyes and grabbed the television remote. He turned it on, muted it, and set up captions. Then he started channel surfing. "Hey, Vince, ya wanna do anything?"

"Sleep or oblivion, whichever is more readily available."

"Yeah, me too." Cid eyed Lucrecia. "If you're s'posed to be doctorin' me, don't it work out that ya can just fuckin' reach over and jab me to see if I'm still breathin'?"

"I..." She laughed, a little helplessly, sinking onto the edge of the other bed. "I guess it does."

With a firm nod, Cid turned his attention to the tv. He'd stopped on the news again, which discussed Serafina's capture, the deaths of her two lovers, and the apparent blackmailing of the Queen Bee Touring Company which had led to Kiran and Vivian's reluctant involvement and eventual arrest. Cid, Lucrecia, and Vincent's involvement was largely glossed over. No mention of the beast was made.

Vincent took off everything but pants and shirt, neatly laying everything but his gun on the bedside table. Then he slid under the covers next to Cid with nothing but his hair visible. He splayed his hand against Cid's belly as his breathing evened out.

Meanwhile, Lucrecia drifted from her bed over to the armchair by the window. She had a thick paperback book to occupy herself with. Something nonfiction, apparently to do with needles, if the cover art meant anything.

Eventually, Cid made himself more comfortable and dozed, only occasionally woken by Lucrecia checking his vitals or forcing a bland liquid diet on him. The news continued to play in the background, going over the same details again and again.

By the next morning, Cid felt over-rested and ravenous. Despite his grumbling, Lucrecia only allowed him to eat plain toast at first. Once he proved that he was not going to throw it back up, she reluctantly allowed a trip down to the little cafe across the street. She watched in awed horror as he demolished a heaping plate of greasy breakfast foods with only a little help from Vincent thieving the toast and charred bacon.

"You must be feeling much better," she observed, sipping at her coffee. "No vertigo or weakness?"

"Nah-uh."

"Good! Maybe we can go home tomorrow..."

"Why not today?" Cid asked around a mouthful of eggs. "My plane ain't been fucked with, has it?"

Vincent plucked up a piece of fried potato, popping it into his mouth. "Should you be flying so soon, Chief?"

"Don't see why the fuck not."

"Umm. Let's see how you're doing closer to lunchtime, okay?" Lucrecia suggested. "I think Shera would prefer us to get back in one piece..."

"Y'all ain't got no fuckin' faith," Cid griped, but finished his breakfast without further complaint.

Afterwards, he and Vincent went for a walk while Lucrecia returned to the inn. The snow hadn't survived the week, but it was still cold enough that their breath came out in white clouds. Cid stumped along closer to Vincent's side than strictly necessary, ducked down into his coat with the collar tugged up around his ears.

"Goddamn winter, damn fuckin' cold, shit, oughta go right the fuck back to the beaches and stay there..."

"Do you want to go back?"

"Nah-uh, let's give the lady some space."

"Alright."

They ended up at the _Altitude_ , since there wasn't much to see in Nibelheim and the mountain paths were blocked off. Cid threw the back door open and climbed in to sit in the cargo hold. Vincent tilted his head, regarding him with bemusement before joining him, shutting the door behind him.

The inside of the plane was as cold as outside, with the added effect of sitting on cold metal, at least until Cid dragged thermal blankets from beneath the seats. He shook them out, then spread them, making a nest of sorts.

"We could be in a comfortable bed, Chief," Vincent pointed out, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

"Yeah, sure, but under the watchful eyes of Miss Doctor."

"...Ah."

Grinning, Cid tugged at Vincent's cape, pulling the other man down. Vincent came willingly enough, mindful of where he put his knees as he arranged himself on top of Cid. Between the two of them, they generated enough body heat to ward off the cold in no time at all. Vincent’s cape trapped all of it, making them nice and toasty.

"There, that ain't so damn bad, huh?"

Vincent hummed, nosing at Cid's jaw. Then he wrinkled his nose, eyeing the excess of scruff. "You need to shave, Chief."

"Yeah, yeah, shit's startin' to curl in on itself. But if I can't fly a damn plane, no fuckin' way can I shave. Liable to cut my own throat."

“Hmm… I’ll forgive you for now.”

“Thanks.” Cid smiled crookedly, running his fingers through long black hair. “Your oh, so generous offerin’ of some fuckin’ patience is damn fine.”

Despite having only been awake for a couple hours at most, fatigue settled heavily over Cid. Much as he might hate to be sleeping all the damn time, he knew better than to resist. It wasn’t like Vincent had any objections; the man was already half asleep, totally melted under Cid’s hands.

Hours later, he woke to some soft noise. Cid cracked an eye open, unable to place the sound at first. It was almost full dark out, and freezing outside of Vincent's cape. He became aware of the pins and needles in his shoulder, the fullness of his bladder, and a trembling, shaking sensation all at once. Blinking, Cid rubbed his hand across his eyes.

The sound came again, a breathy whimper. The shaking worsened, then Vincent spasmed, curling in on himself. Understanding hit Cid upside the head about the same time that Vincent did, thrashing in his nightmare.

"Hey! Wake up, Vince, c'mon!"

Cid threw one arm around Vincent's waist and caught his wrist after a few missed grabs. Little by little, Vincent stilled, beginning to wake up. Red eyes flew open, wide and uncomprehending. Vincent panted harshly, staring blankly up into Cid's face, then pulled from his grip in order to touch his cheek, thumb digging a little hard under his eye.

"Alright, starshine?" Cid asked, quiet and gentle.

"I... I _killed_ you. And made you... And you're still here. I don't... _why_. I keep _hurting_ you..."

"Thought we went over this already. I threw my ass in the way every damn time." Cid laid his hand over Vincent's. "Wasn't nothin' ya could do to stop my reckless bullshit."

Vincent dropped his forehead against Cid's shoulder, struggling to get his breathing under control. Eventually, he sat up, exposing Cid to the cold air, and scooted back to the far side of the cabin, pressing his back to the door while he hunched under his cloak.

"I have to do better. I keep... thinking that and then..."

Cid sat up, rubbing his hands over his arms, partly to wake his sleeping arm up, but mostly in a vain attempt to get warm. He grabbed one of the thermal blankets, pulling it up over his shoulders. Then he crept closer to Vincent, crouching in front of him.

"Ain't been any goddamn time to work on it. C'mon, don't do this, Valentine. Stay with me."

"How do I make amends for your death?"

"Ya already did. I'm alive 'cuz of ya."

"At what _cost_ , you could end up... like _me_."

"Good," Cid said, fiercely. "Then I know ya won't be alone, mopin' at the bottom of the ocean."

"And if you become a monster?"

"Make it easier to figure out how the fuck to help ya get it under control."

Vincent blew out an exasperated breath, curling in on himself. He didn't shy away when Cid reached out, brushing dark hair out of his face. He looked utterly exhausted, as if he'd never slept at all.

"I still feel unworthy of you," Vincent said, gaze averted. "And I don't know how to fix it."

"Me either. Can't do nothin' but keep sayin' I need ya, and that it ain't your fault."

With a broken sigh, Vincent turned his face into the palm of Cid's hand, so that his eyes were covered. He said nothing, and his breathing slowed to almost nothing, and he became like a corpse, caught inside his own head.

"C'mon, starshine... It's fuckin' cold out here. Let's at least go somewhere with alcohol if we're gonna have a sad sack session."

That startled a soft huff out of Vincent. He moved out of the way of the door, letting Cid open it so they could step out onto crunchy, frozen grass. Small snowflakes drifted down around them, slow and silent and already beginning to pile up.

"Well, shit, no wonder it's so damn cold."

Vincent tipped his head back, looking to the thick clouds overhead. Snowflakes got caught on his lashes and melted, running down his cheeks like tears. He lowered his gaze as Cid shut the cargo doors, and didn't resist when Cid took his hand.

Halfway back to town, Vincent said, "I have no right to ask anything of you, but--"

"Sure ya do. Ask the hell away." Cid squeezed his hand. "This ain't gonna work if ya gonna keep tryin' to make it one-sided."

"...Sorry. Will you... let me make amends? Even if you don't think I need to."

"Depends on what ya wanna do. I can't have... that shit like with Shera. I want ya as my equal, not my servant."

"I'm terrible at housework anyway," Vincent murmured, squeezing back. "Tell me if I sink too low."

"'Course."

No one was out on the streets with the snow, but the warm glow of shops and restaurants drew Cid like a moth to flame. He tugged at Vincent, urging him along to a likely looking place. A little hole in the wall tavern that boasted _Best Meat Pies This Side of Nibel_ and _Buy 1 Get 1 Beer_. The inside was warm and stuffy, smelling strongly of beer and cooking meats. Cid's mouth watered as he herded Vincent over to a dark corner booth.

"Gotta take a leak. Someone comes askin', I want their specials, alright?"

Even though he looked a little uncomfortable, Vincent nodded. "Alright, Chief."

Cid escaped to the bathroom to finally relieve his bladder. When he came back some time later, two big pitchers of cheap beer and a couple of empty tankards awaited him. Vincent toyed with a full glass of red wine, staring through it without really seeing it.

When Cid flopped down next to him, Vincent spoke in a leaden voice: “Steak or pork pies today.”

“What’d ya get?”

“Both.”

“Good shit.”

Cid filled one of the tankards, then sampled the local pisswater. It was much tastier than the crap he could get at a convenience store. Grinning, he leaned against Vincent’s side as he drank.

Somewhere across the room, a jukebox played, muffled under the chatter of locals enjoying their dinners. The song seemed familiar. Cid strained to make out words, frowning with concentration. The chorus started up and he found himself softly humming along.

“...you’ve got to promise not to stop when I say when,” he sang. Thunking his tankard down on the tabletop, Cid grinned up at Vincent’s sidelong look. “That’s fuckin’ right. If nothin’ else, I’m feelin’ less damn scattered all the time since y’all pulled me back.”

“Your memories are intact?”

“Yeah! Was havin’ a bitch of a time rememberin’ lyrics and shit. Good thing I wasn’t workin’ on nothin’, liable to blow my ass to kingdom come for gettin’ the damn formula wrong.”

“Hmm… I’m glad, then.”

Their food came not long after. Two big personal pies with golden, crispy crusts and tender, gooey insides, the gravy just the right side of salty and the meat melt-in-the-mouth tender. Vincent made a face at the pork, but helped demolish the steak, sans the peas. All throughout dinner, Cid hummed along with the jukebox, letting Vincent avoid having to talk much.

Later, they shuffled through ankle-high snow to get back to the inn.

Lucrecia looked up in alarm and relief when they entered the room. “Oh, thank goodness, I was really starting to worry!”

“Sorry, lady,” Cid slurred, grinning, and let himself be manhandled into the bathroom to get washed up and ready for bed.

Brushing teeth probably shouldn’t have involved quite so much kissing, but Vincent didn’t seem to mind. He caught Cid’s hands before they could wander too far, though, shaking his head very slightly.

“Not tonight, Chief.”

“Yeahhh… alright. Sorry.”

Vincent kissed him on the temple. “You need to sleep it off, if you’re going to fly us home tomorrow.”

“Hmm-hmm, okay. Don’t ya fuckin’ worry, I’m the best damn pilot in the world.” Cid threw the bathroom door open and marched out, singing, “If I leave here tomorrow would you still remember meee?”

“Sorry, Lucrecia, he’s had a bit much to drink,” Vincent said, following behind to push Cid into bed.

“Just fuckin’ _enough_ , if ya ask me!” Cid kicked his boots off, narrowly missing Vincent in the process and definitely hitting the bedside table hard enough to rattle the lamp.

“Oh dear,” Lucrecia laughed. She came over to put her hand against Cid’s forehead. “Well… I should scold you both for drinking so soon, but you seem in very good spirits.”

“Hah! Spirits.” Cid grinned. “Ya real damn funny.”

“Thank you. We’ll see how you’re doing in the morning…”

“Gonna feel right as fuckin’ rain, ya watch.”

“Why don’t you watch some television and go to sleep, Chief,” Vincent suggested, laying the tv remote on his belly.

“Hell yeah.”

While the other two got settled, Cid fiddled with the remote, flicking rapidly through channels until he found a likely looking movie full of flashy explosions. At first, he couldn’t figure out why it was totally silent, since they didn’t even _make_ silent movies anymore, then he gave up on that mystery in favor of wondering how Vincent could sleep so much and look so pretty while doing it. It wasn’t fair, honestly. The alcohol won out eventually though, dragging Cid under for sleep he personally didn’t feel he needed more of.


	52. pick myself up

Cid woke before the sun the next morning. Gloomy gray light filtered in through the windows. The clock on the bedside table read 0531. A dry, cottony feeling filled his mouth, but he felt no nausea, no stabbing spikes of pain, and none of the other expected symptoms of a hangover. He felt fine. Better than fine, really. He slid from bed and went to the bathroom, a spring in his step.

Eager to finally get home, and feeling the familiar itch of needing to do _something_ , Cid ambled out to poke at the lump of blankets that was Vincent. A single red eye squinted at him, unfocused and annoyed.

“Mornin’, starshine.” Out of respect for Lucrecia, Cid kept his voice relatively low. “Time to get a move on.”

Vincent rolled over to glare at the clock, then looked back at Cid. “Why are you like this,” he grumbled. “You drank almost four pitchers last night…”

“Iunno. Doncha wanna go home?”

“My home was burned down.”

“Kay, to _my_ home.”

“Shera’s, more likely.” Vincent threw his arm over his face, sighing deeply.

“Yeah, yeah. I got some ideas ‘bout what I wanna do ‘bout my shitty apartment.”

“Hmm… Can’t this keep for a little longer?”

“How much sleep d’ya really need? C’mon, ya can sleep when we’re home.”

With a groan, Vincent gave in, sitting up so that the blankets pooled in his lap. He rubbed at the side of his face, leaning away from Cid’s attempt to kiss his cheek. “You can wake Lucrecia,” Vincent decided, slipping away to the bathroom.

As it turned out, Lucrecia was not a morning person at all. She made grumpy groaning noises, curling in on herself, and refused to be budged until long after Vincent came back out of the bathroom. Only after hitting Cid with a pillow did she shuffle off to the bathroom herself, grumbling about morning people.

She remained half asleep all through packing up, breakfast, and the hike out to the _Altitude_. The overnight snow hadn’t managed to stick; it was already melting into a slush. While the other two got buckled into their seats in the plane, Cid made a check of the engines and wheels. Nothing frozen over that he could see. Satisfied, he got in to prime the engines, letting it run for a while before trying to guide the plane out of the field and onto the already cleared roads.

“Why are planes always so cold?” Lucrecia complained from the backseat.

“Engines gotta warm up! Oughta be right toasty soon, but there’s some damn thermal blankets in the back if ya need.”

“Pass me one, please,” Vincent murmured.

Cid parked on the road to wait until Lucrecia retrieved the blankets and got strapped back in. Then, humming some cheerful tune about believing in flight, he took off down the road, lifting off just before a honking truck full of pigs.

His passengers dozed through the flight back, missing out as grey clouds thinned enough to let the sunrise shine through. Cid admired the view, glad to be alive, and took them home. Vincent woke when the plane touched down in Rocket Town. Lucrecia reluctantly woke when doors were thrown open, mumbling about the cold and the light shining on her face.

While a crew fell upon the _Altitude_ to help unload and park it in the hangar for maintenance, Cid hustled Vincent and Lucrecia along to his truck, parked in one of the other garages. He made a stop by the offices to see if Shera was in yet, and since she wasn’t, drove them to her house.

Shera answered the door in her robe, holding a trio of steaming coffee mugs. Cid’s had tea in it, bless the woman. He accepted it and put up with her weepy hugging as he edged into the house. Lucrecia rescued the other two mugs--filled with coffee-- from Shera before they got dropped. She then shuffled off to sprawl on the living room couch with both mugs, setting one down on the coffee table. Vincent narrowly avoided getting caught up in Shera’s hugging, dodging around to set their bags and the server down against the back of the couch.

“I’m-- Captain, you have to stop nearly getting yourself killed! I can’t take much more of this!!” Shera wailed, clinging tighter.

“Sorry, I’m okay, really.” Sighing, Cid hooked his arm around her waist, lifting her up so he could awkwardly hobble to the kitchen to set her on one of the chairs. “C’mon, ya don’t gotta cry…”

“I’ll cry if I damn well want to! You’ve been MIA or presumed dead three times in the last couple of months!!”

Cid winced. “My bad…”

“Oh, you…!!”

It took Shera almost an hour to get herself under control, and she only did it by way of busying herself with doing the previous night’s dishes and bullying him into making breakfast. Vincent and Lucrecia had it easy, staying out of the line of fire by hiding in the living room.

Over breakfast, Cid gestured with his fork. "Hey, what d'ya say 'bout the company givin' me the old launchpad property?"

"What, the whole several hundred acres?" Shera asked, blinking, with a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth.

"Ah, hell naw, just the pad and maybe a few acres."

"Mm... I'll see what I need to do, but out of curiosity--what for?"

Three sets of eyes were on him. Casually, Cid crunched a piece of bacon. "Well... Might be nice to set up a home base to come back to that ain't a piece of shit apartment."

"Oh," Shera hummed. "It'll be nice to have you as a neighbor."

"Yeah, sure. Missed me swearin' at shit that ain't workin' right at all hours, did ya?"

"Something like that."

After breakfast, Shera went upstairs to get ready for work, Lucrecia returned to the living room to watch the news and doze, and Vincent made a vague attempt at helping Cid clean up.

"Thinking about the future, Chief?"

"Iunno, maybe." Cid was up to his elbows in dishwater, scrubbing eggs out of the pan. "Wouldja wanna stay in Rocket Town? I mean, not that ya gotta stay in one damn place all the time or nothin'..."

"I would not be opposed."

Grinning, Cid ducked his head. "Alright, cool."

When they finished tidying up, Cid dug out some gloves and a heavier jacket, then dragged Vincent out to inspect the launchpad and the surrounding overgrown fields. He wandered out to stand in the middle of the pad, kicking bits of glass around idly. The concrete still had scorch marks from the launch.

"What will you do with the support beams?" Vincent asked, peering up at them.

"Prolly gotta take 'em down.” Cid shrugged with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Might be worth salvagin’."

"The town's silhouette certainly will lose something..."

"Yeah, the fuckin' daily risk that the whole damn thing will collapse and knock people's houses down."

“Ha.” Vincent shook his head, walking along the edge of the pad. “Are you going to build a _house_ on top of this?”

“Iunno, ya got any opinions?”

“I like my neighbors further away, even charming ones like Shera.”

“Uh-huh, kinda figured.”

Patting at his pockets, Cid found that he did indeed have cigarettes and lighter available, though he couldn’t remember ever getting any, nor did he know how they might’ve survived his death. He raised a brow at Vincent, flicking the lighter cap.

“...What? Did you expect to wake up with no nicotine readily available?”

Cid laughed quietly. “Takin’ care of me, huh?”

“That is the duty of a husband, is it not?”

Lighting up, Cid exhaled smoke, grinning. “Yep. Speakin’ of, c’mon, let’s go get my engagement tags replaced.”

His aunt wasn't home when they drove over the Highwind residence, but Abby and Darrel were. They weren't all that surprised to learn that Cid lost his tags. The two exchanged amused glances.

"Honestly, lose ya damn head if ya didn't have Mr. Valentine lookin' after ya," Abby grumbled, smiling sardonically. "We'll make extras this time."

"Thanks. Oh, can we go lookit the junk heap?"

"Sure, help yaself."

With Vincent a silent shadow following him back out into the cold, Cid wandered out into the scrapyard. The place consisted of rows of rusty cars and discarded household appliances stacked up neat and tall so one couldn't see over the top. The whole yard had concrete flooring to keep oil and other unmentionables from seeping into the soil, as well as tarps spread under the more troublesome pieces.

Some of the less trashed cars sat at the ends on their lonesome, with stickers in their windshields denoting a willingness to sell and what each rusting heap had to offer. Cid dawdled near these in particular, humming thoughtfully as he considered and dismissed them one by one.

"Are you looking for something in particular, Chief?" Vincent wondered.

"Um-humm. Why doncha do yer flighty thing and see if ya spot anything interestin'."

"Like what?"

"Somethin' red."

Vincent slow blinked at him, then narrowed his eyes. "You don't honestly think you will find one here..."

"Never know."

Still, Vincent soared up into the air, cloak spread and fluttering not unlike the great bat-like wings Chaos once cursed him with. Cid held his hand above his eyes, craning to watch. Vincent fell slowly, twisting in the air to scout out the junkyard. He touched down with a soft scrape of boots on concrete and walked off down the aisle without a word. Cid hurried to follow.

What they wanted sat at the end of one of the aisles near the back of the property, near Abby and Darrel's workshop, likely so that they could keep a close eye on it to prevent theft. According to the stickers in the window, marked up with Abby's coded symbols, the car still possessed its original parts and the frame was solid, with no rust. A stop materia in the dash kept it from succumbing to the weather.

"Well, well, well, what do ya fuckin' know, Valentine?"

"...What will you do with it?"

"What d'ya think? Gonna fix it up. Man's gotta have a wedding gift, don't he?"

Vincent's lips parted as he stared at Cid with something like awe. "Does he?"

"Sure. Is it good 'nuff for ya?"

"I." Swallowing, Vincent ducked his face down into his cape's mantle, as if to hide the flush creeping over his pale cheeks. "This would be... too good for me."

Cid threw his arm around Vincent's shoulder, pulling him down to kiss him firmly. "Hush up with that, starshine. Gonna have plenny of fun puttin' this lil beauty back together, so I'm gettin' somethin' outta it anyhow."

"...Can I help?"

"Hell yeah!" Cid tucked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, chewing thoughtfully on it, heedless of how sharp his canines had gotten. “Just uh, don’t get all technologically distressed on it.”

Vincent huffed quietly, pulling away. “I owned this car once, Cid Highwind.”

“Sure, but ownin’ don’t mean ya knew how to fix the damn thing.”

“I knew enough to avoid expensive mechanics…”

Right about then, Abby threw the workshop door open, obviously about to go searching for them. She paused on finding them practically on the doorstep. “Oh! Eyein’ Darrel’s Bandera, are ya?”

“Yep. What’s he wantin’ for it?”

“Hafta talk to him ‘bout it, I’m sure. We got yer spares printed, just coolin’ now. C’mon in and chat the old grump up, why don’tcha?”

The inside of the workshop was hot and smoky. The forges in the back were ablaze, melting down metals at all hours of the day. The shelves along the walls were packed with smaller odds and ends, ranging from toolboxes to junked household appliances. A number of worktables filled the space, most of them covered in unfinished projects. A set of computers and the printing press sat in a walled off cubicle in one corner.

Darrel sat on a stool at one of the worktables, bent over a dismantled radio. He glanced up when they entered, grunted acknowledgement, and continued working right up until Cid plopped down in the stool across from him, with Vincent standing at his shoulder.

"See ya got a Bandera sittin' out there ya ain't doin' nothin' with."

"Hm-hmm." Darrel put down his tools, leaned his elbows on the edge of the table, and dragged his mug of tea over to take a long drink. "Lil 'cuz come 'round sniffin' after it all of a sudden?"

"Sure, it's a sweet fuckin' ride. Or could be. Ya oughta sell it to me."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Abby asked, wandering by to check on the forges.

"Might be I had plans for it..."

"Yeah fuckin' right," Cid retorted, grinning. "Ya'd have that bitch on the road yesterday if ya did. C'mon, ya old bastard, how much?"

They haggled for a while, trading jibes. By the time Cid got a firm price they could both agree on, the tags were ready. One new set for him to wear right then, plus two extra pairs. Abby saw them off with a cheerful wave, chiding them to come back around when Aunt Betty was home.

"You're really going to spend that much on a car," Vincent marveled, once they were in Cid's truck again.

"Sure, money's goin' to family and the car's goin' to my favorite person in the whole fuckin' world."

Vincent hid his face in his cape and said nothing else for the ride back to Shera's. Cid left him alone, turning the radio up to hum along with cheesy pop songs.

When they'd pulled into the driveway and Cid shut the truck engine off, Vincent said, "Cid."

"Yeah?"

Vincent caught him by the dog tags, pulling him in for a kiss that involved a lot of tongue and lips and left Cid's head spinning. He blinked glassily as Vincent got out of the truck and vanished into the house. Then Cid threw himself out of the truck to give chase because like hell was he going to leave it at _that_.

Shera brought the newly drawn up deed for five acres, including the launchpad home that night. She passed it over to Cid over dinner. "Sign it and it's yours, captain."

"Fuckin' right on!"

Cid abandoned his dinner to hunt down a pen. He brought it back to the table, putting it between his plate and Vincent's. After scrawling his name down, all of it illegible but the huge 'c' and 'h', he held the pen out to Vincent.

"Gonna be yours too anyway, so might s'well get it out the way now, right?"

"Oh." Vincent blinked, but accepted the pen. His signature was all loops and swirls, sharp on the 'v's and 'n's.

"Congratulations!" Shera said. "Make sure you don't let the captain get away with living in a pup tent for the rest of your days..."

"Hey, what the hell," Cid grumbled.

Lucrecia patted Vincent's shoulder. "Very happy for you."

"Thank you both," Vincent mumbled, looking embarrassed but squinty and pleased nonetheless.

Cid kept busy the next few weeks ordering parts for the car, making arrangements to get the new property inspected, a suitable place for a house way out near the back of it picked out at Vincent's approval, and then hiring construction crews to get to work as soon as the snows let up.

Abby and Darrel, along with the WRO's best, came out to have a look at the rusting rocket supports to determine the best way to dismantle it and whether the metals could be salvaged. They wouldn't be able to do anything until spring or even summer, just the same as the house.

Throughout it all, Vincent always lurked nearby, making himself available if not entirely helpful. Cid appreciated the company, even if he sometimes had to chase Vincent off to go recharge when the other man started looking particularly overstimulated.

Shera insisted they stay at her house and made a point of telling Lucrecia that she could stay as long as she wanted. The two women became fast friends, the sort that behaved as if they'd known each other all their lives.

With Shera’s help, Lucrecia found work with the WRO, doctoring people who’d been exposed to mako, Jenova, and other foreign substances. This came in useful as former members of the Luz Vuelve were released on good behavior and came to Rocket Town seeking work and the fate of their lady.

Besides all that, Cid hooked up the server to Shera's home computer and pored through the files therein. He found the blueprints to the arm eventually. Finding the right kind of metals to repair it took some time, as did figuring out how to replicate the more complicated pieces. Getting the damn thing to work, and work well, took him a while, but Vincent was patient with him.

"Oughta call up Barret, see who did his arm. Might be worth learnin' from a master."

"Haven't you enough on your plate, Chief?" Vincent wondered, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Pssht, nah. Let's go play."

Playing consisted of bundling up and stomping out into the snow to their five acres, away from the launchpad and not too close to where their house would one day stand. They sparred, mostly hand to hand, until Vincent could transform into the beast, and then they chased each other around, practicing Vincent's ability to stay lucid. The early attempts went about as well as could be expected, but he was getting better every time.

An interesting thing they'd learned the first time the beast slammed into Cid was that the minute they made contact, Vincent always regained control.

“Smells different, Chief.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Feels like coming home.”

“Huh. That’s fuckin’ sappy as shit, starshine.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Despite Lucrecia’s and Vincent’s fears, Cid never turned into a hideous monster.

His sense of smell improved immensely, to the point that he couldn’t stand most fragrances anymore. His hearing was just a little better, letting him hear higher pitches he’d never noticed before. And he had a kind of sense for when Vincent was on the verge of transforming that came in handy.

Sometimes he had really bizarre dreams full of blood and smoke, but he’d been having similar dreams for as long as he could remember. Otherwise, Cid didn’t feel much different.

As Vincent got better at controlling his transformation, his health improved. His bruises and cuts stopped taking so long to heal, and he was able to ease off of some of the pills he'd been taking.

"Lucrecia thinks it's psychosomatic," Vincent said, perched on a branch above Cid's head.

"What is?" Cid crouched beneath the tree, arms propped on his knees, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips.

"My illness."

"...Ya been mopin' so hard ya made yaself sick?"

"That’s one way to put it, Highwind."

Cid laughed until Vincent shoved a heap of snow off a nearby branch onto his head. Then he swore and gave chase, never quite able to catch the flap of tattered cape but not really minding after all. Happiness was red eyes squinting back at him, their owner twisting and turning at the last second to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick wrap-up chapter to touch on things that will be explored in future fic, so this one doesn't lurch along for another 200k.
> 
> Vin's car is basically a 1960 Chevy Corvette, the classic red-and-white look.


	53. off the ground

Spring looked like it might be late that year. Cid glared out the kitchen window, sipping tea, and brooded about the gently falling snow currently keeping construction crews from getting started on building his-- their-- home, and a workshop to call his own. It sucked having to make do between borrowed spaces at Shera's and at the airstrip.

He finished his tea, set the mug in the sink, and went upstairs. The lump in his shared bed hadn't moved; Vincent seemed to think that if he slept in late, winter would end sooner. Going back to bed was tempting, but Cid had things to do. He snagged his gloves, scarf, and coat, and slipped back out of the room.

Shera and Lucrecia were out for the weekend, taking a girl's holiday somewhere warmer. They'd been getting especially chummy ever since the holiday party at Tifa's and Cid was glad to be quit of their best friends forever talk.

Cid headed to the back door, yanking his boots and everything on, then stumped out into the snow, muttering low curses. It took a good five minutes for his truck to warm up, and by then, Vincent drifted out of the house and slid into the passenger seat to droop against Cid's shoulder, still half asleep but apparently unwilling to be left behind.

"Hey, starshine," Cid said, patting his knee. "Was just gonna go down to the convenience store, but... ya wanna go see if they done paintin' your car?"

"Mhm."

That, at least, was one thing that hadn't been slowed by the weather. He and Vincent spent most of their idle hours redoing the MP Bandera. Vincent hadn't been kidding when he said he _did_ know how to work on the car. They replaced almost everything themselves, as parts came in. When they'd finished, they passed the car off to professionals to get the paint and upholstery redone. Cid knew how to build an engine from the ground up, but he was no artist.

Cid drove them down to the convenience store, going in for cigarettes and the newest trashy mystery novel. The next stop was the garage down the street.

The place was warm and well-lit, reeking of paint and new car smells. The MP Bandera sat beneath a sheet on the far left. Vincent strayed that way immediately while Cid went to talk to the owner, a blustery bearded man with a jovial smile and too many tattoos.

"Oi, there y'are, Highwind!" The guy waved a meaty sandwich, not getting up from his stool and not really looking away from the tiny black and white tv propped on a nearby crate. "Car's ready to go, though this weather sure puts a damper onnit."

Cid shrugged. "Ain't got far to drive, and the roads're clear. Payment go through alright?"

"Yep. Keys're on the wall, if ya gonna brave that slush."

"Thanks."

Cid retrieved the keys and went to join Vincent. He jangled the keys until Vincent held his metal hand up, claws curled to catch the keys in the palm.

"Mind the weather, starshine. I'll be right fuckin' behind ya if somethin' happens."

"You worry too much, Chief."

Vincent grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it back, revealing the car. The shiny red and white paint glowed; the upholstery was soft and supple; the foldaway roof water tight; even the chrome had been polished to a high sheen. It looked just like new. The two men stood there, admiring it for several long minutes.

Then Vincent bumped their shoulders together, squinting with pleasure, and went around to start it up. He'd only driven it a few times, testing whether everything worked properly, and then the short drive to the garage. Watching him carefully back out of the garage and ease onto the street to idle until Cid got into his truck was something else.

"Summer can't come fast enough," Cid murmured to himself, getting the truck started and following Vincent back to Shera's.

While Cid parked the truck in the driveway without concern for exposure to the weather, Vincent waited near the workshop. Cid wandered over to yank the garage doors open, letting Vincent park the car in the safety of shelter. The old roadster was stored away at the workshop at the airstrip. It was Cid's next hobby project, not yet started.

Vincent shut the car off and got out, gently shutting the door. He watched as Cid shut the garage doors, head slightly tilted.

"How's it feel, Vince?"

"Incredible."

"Good! So... whatcha wanna do today?"

"Hmm..." Vincent lowered his gaze, considering the concrete beneath their boots. "I need more sleep," he decided, and swept away.

Cid rolled his eyes, amused and long-suffering. He headed indoors and, after some consideration, decided he wanted a bath.

Since no one else was home to complain at him if he used the hot water up, and Vincent would either invite himself or sleep right through for another couple hours, Cid indulged and took as long as he wanted. He cleaned up thoroughly in a shower, then settled in for a nice long soak with one of the many books on solar energy he'd picked up over the winter. The current one dealt with constructing power banks to store up enough energy to last through sunless seasons.

As interesting as it was, all the steamy warmth made him drowsy. He just started to doze when Vincent spoke from the doorway, "You'll ruin more books that way, Chief."

"Uh," Cid grunted, dropping the book on the bathmat, safely away from the water. "Need somethin'?"

"Ah... I noticed a funny sound coming from under the dash when I drove home."

"Oh. Damn. Guess we oughta have a look."

Cid unplugged the tub, then stood, letting the water run off his body. Vincent leaned in the doorway, brazenly admiring the view. He was dressed down, with his hair up in a tail, a sign of how relaxed he was if his appraisal of Cid wasn't enough of a hint.

"...Ya wanna do somethin' else first, Valentine?"

"No, I don't think it should wait."

"Uh-huh." Cid snagged the towel, drying off. "Go on then, lemme get fuckin' dressed in peace."

Vincent turned on his heel sharply, hair flying, and left. He intentionally made noise on the stairs, no doubt to let Cid know where he'd be. Cid shook his head, smiling, and got out to get dressed in a t-shirt, a plaid button up, and a pair of jeans.

He really hoped whatever was wrong with the car wasn't anything serious. When they'd rolled it over to the garage, it ran perfectly, not a thing out of place. Not much rattling in or around the dash could be, and none of it good.

As expected, Cid found Vincent in the workshop, hip propped against the hood of the car, arms folded. The car's roof had been folded away and the driver's door stood open. The workshop's heater ran on high to ward the chill off, but even so, Cid pulled his slippers on before stepping out onto the cold concrete.

"Alright, let's have a look see..."

Cid snagged his work gloves off the table nearest the door, pulling them on. Then he went to kneel by the open door, peering up under the dash to see if the problem would be obvious. Wires and dash panels hanging loose would be an _easy_ fix.

No such luck.

Cid braced his elbows against the seat and leaned back, intending to ask Vincent what the sound was, but the back of his head hit solid thighs. Blinking, he stared up, meeting warm red eyes.

"...Was there really somethin' wrong or are ya messin' with me?"

Long, pale fingers pushed through his hair from the back to front, then tightened, pulling lightly to make him tip his head back fully. Vincent bent until their mouths were centimeters apart.

"How irritated would you be if it were the latter?"

"Depends, ya gonna keep teasin'?"

“Hmm… No, I think I won’t tease too much today.”

Cid hummed agreeably when Vincent kissed him, working their lips together, though the angle was too awkward for anything else. They fixed that soon enough, as Vincent stepped back to let Cid turn around, then urged him into the driver’s seat, feet still planted on the concrete outside of the car. Vincent straddled Cid’s legs, bracing his claw on the top of the steering wheel. His other hand scraped through Cid’s stubble, thumb resting under one glowing blue eye. Cid, meanwhile, was happy to wrap his arms around Vincent’s waist, holding him steady as they kissed lazily.

“Didn’t peg ya for a materialistic man, Mr. Valentine,” Cid murmured, nibbling along Vincent’s jawline.

“I’m not. Ah.” Red eyes fluttered when teeth scraped down the side of his neck. “...The physical reminders that this isn’t just a pleasant dream are… appreciated.”

Snickering, Cid slid his hands down, gripping Vincent by the hips. “ _I’ll_ say.”

“This is too much talking right now,” Vincent decided, catching Cid by the short hairs at the base of his skull to drag him back up for a harsh, demanding kiss with a lot of tongue and the slightest nip of teeth.

Cid forgot all about talking after that.


	54. nsfw - submission and will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: car sex, handcuffs, oral foreplay, awkward fumbling, anal penetration, hand job

As thrilling as making out in a classic car was, it did provide some interesting logistical concerns that Cid couldn't help but wonder how Vincent intended to deal with. He broke away from Vincent's mouth to ask, but Vincent dragged him back almost immediately, not even letting him catch his breath. Breathing through his nose didn't seem to be doing enough, like being forced to breathe through a straw. His head swam, sparks dancing against the backs of his eyelids as his mouth was ruthlessly dominated.

One surefire way to get Vincent's attention continued to be putting hands where they weren't wanted. Cid pushed his still gloved hand under the hem of Vincent's shirt, splaying them across the skin of Vincent's lower back. When that didn't do much, Cid pushed up inch by inch.

As expected, Vincent pulled back and caught his wrist. While Cid gasped and sucked down air greedily, Vincent yanked the offending limb away, shoving it towards the steering wheel. Before Cid could really register what was happening, there came a jangling of metal and a click. Cid blinked slowly, staring at the metal handcuff securing him to the steering wheel. The handcuff had been put over the safety cuff of his work glove, preventing chafing, but also trapping his hand inside leather.

The act of being restrained wasn't anything especially startling.

Soon after getting his prosthetic back, Vincent had taken up practicing using it to test its range of movement so he could report back to Cid for tune-ups. One of the things he'd done was practice knots, starting with little ones like decorative bracelets. Vincent thought it the height of hilarity to send one to Yuffie without explanation and then make himself scarce when the girl called to yell down the line, demanding to know if Cid had _broke_ Vincent.

Then came larger knots, practiced again and again with silk or ropes. Cid's wrist became a frequent target, though not in a sexual context. Usually, Vincent would borrow Cid's arm around bedtime and sit with it in his lap, tying and untying while Cid read or dozed through something playing on the television.

It was, Vincent admitted later, a way of getting Cid comfortable with the idea. When he did finally apply it to sex, Cid found it spicy and interesting, his only discomfort the inability to actively touch as much as he wanted.

"...Huh. That's new," Cid murmured, flexing his arm to test the give of the handcuff. Not much. He could probably break it, if he really needed to, but it’d likely damage the car.

Vincent tilted his head, bangs falling over one eye, and regarded him thoughtfully. "Yes, no?"

"I'm fine with it if ya got the key handy."

"Alright." Tenderly, Vincent kissed Cid's forehead. "Tell me if it's too much."

"Uh-huh."

Vincent rose to his knees, shifting his weight off of Cid's legs and putting his groin about level with Cid's face in the process. This, Cid felt, was an agreeable view. The dark slacks Vincent wore framed the swell of his dick, already half hard.

Keeping his prosthetic braced atop the steering wheel, Vincent popped the button of his slacks open. He unzipped slowly, only finishing when Cid met his gaze. The pants slipped down, bunched above his knees. He was not wearing any underwear, and Cid groaned quietly for that discovery.

When Cid reached with his still freed hand, Vincent caught him by the wrist and pressed it firmly against the back of the seat. He held Cid's gaze, giving a very slight shake of his head.

"...What the hell d'ya want me to do, starshine?"

"You could put that mouth to better use."

Cid grinned, toothy and hungry, which made Vincent swallow thickly. Golden claws tightened on the steering wheel, and even though Cid hadn't even done anything yet, the cock in front of his face gave a twitch, swelling further. It gave him a thrill to know he had that kind of effect on Vincent.

He placed a cheeky kiss against Vincent's hip bone, and then a few more trailing down along the inside of one pale thigh. Though red eyes narrowed at him, Vincent didn't try to rush him.

Cid sought out the tender spot just south of Vincent's balls, where the nearly endless bump of scar tissue gave away to smooth, creamy skin. He applied pressure there, sucking and licking and applying just the right amount of teeth. Vincent sucked in a sharp breath, grabbing onto Cid's shoulder. When Cid moved upwards, he made sure to scrape his stubble against the insides of Vincent's thighs, which made his legs shake and clench.

"Lookit ya, already wrecked," Cid teased, blowing a breath over Vincent's swollen shaft.

"Thought I told you..." Vincent slid his hand from Cid's shoulder, up the back of his neck, cupping his head. "...to find something else to do besides talk."

"Aw, Vince."

That was all he was allowed to say. Vincent gripped short blond hair, pushing until the head of his dick dragged against Cid's lips. Laughing silently because he knew Vincent would let up if he really didn't want it, Cid parted his lips, lapping at the slit, tasting the faint tang of precum.

Vincent's grip went slack. He sighed, petting through Cid's hair, watching him mouth along the veiny underside of the shaft. Cid ran his tongue against the base, then dropped his attentions lower, sucking first one side of Vincent's sac, then the other. His reward was soft, breathless moans, barely audible, and a tug at his hair, urging him back up. He went gladly, licking from root to tip.

Vincent no longer seemed to be paying attention to what Cid did with his free hand, so he looped that arm around Vincent's waist, holding him steady. When Cid sucked the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue, Vincent shivered. His gold claws twitched, lost their grip, and slid off the steering wheel.

A loud honk startled them apart. If not for the fact that Cid had his arm around Vincent, at least one of them would have fallen out of the car. Cid yelped, throwing his weight back to steady Vincent, and then started laughing, helplessly. Vincent sank down, turning his head to stare at the door leading to the house as if he expected one of the ladies to come bustling in to see what was going on. Then he shrank further, burying his face against Cid's shoulder.

"Ah, fuck, ya alright, starshine?" Cid wheezed, grinning.

Vincent mumbled, "Bury me with my pride out back."

"Hah, alright, sure. This is what ya get for pickin' a lil two-seater sports car. Ain't got no room for foolin' 'round in."

"Hnn."

Rubbing soothingly at Vincent's back, Cid pressed a kiss against his temple. "Ya wanna move this elsewhere?"

By way of answer, Vincent produced the key to the handcuffs, undoing the one secured to the steering wheel. He left them dangling off Cid's wrist. Then he handed over the car keys.

"Start her up."

"What, why?"

Vincent gave him a narrow look, doing up his pants. He slid off Cid's knees, and crossed the workshop to turn the vents on. Blinking, Cid twisted around to start the car up, letting it idle in park. He got out of the car after, tugging at his jeans because even if the heat of the moment had been thrown off, his erection hadn't lost too much interest yet.

Vincent walked over to stand in front of the car, crooking a single golden claw. Cid rounded the car and lifted his arm to jangle the handcuffs with a raised brow. The moment he was within reach, Vincent caught the dangling handcuff and Cid's freed wrist, cuffing him so that his arms were in front. He still had both work gloves on, denying him tactile sensation.

"Bein' cruel, huh?" Cid murmured.

"You can tell me to stop at any time."

"Nah-uh, I'm curious how far this car fetish is gonna go."

"I don't have a car fetish." Vincent wrinkled his nose, glancing aside. "I fail to see how this situation is any different than your... mechanics magazines you swear are for the _articles_."

"Hey, there's some quality reads in those!"

"Of course there are, Chief."

Vincent pushed the palm of his hand flat against Cid's shoulder, nudging him back against the car's hood. It was the kind of old fashioned one that curved down to a low-set grille, nestled between large headlight buckets. Cid was grateful for that, he didn't fancy being planted directly against the grille, which radiated the engine's heat.

The low rumble of the engine radiating up his backside was pleasant. It warded off more of the chill in the air, too. Cid squirmed a little, getting more situated.

"Hey, so... what exactly are ya plannin' here?"

Tugging at the chain between the handcuffs with his claws, Vincent forced Cid to lie back with his arms above his head. At the same time, he pushed his way between Cid's knees, bracing his real hand next to Cid's hip.

"Hmm... How did you put it... You've had the whole car wash this time, haven't you?"

Cid barked a laugh. "Oh, ya _liked_ that one?"

"It seems appropriate to the situation."

"Yeah, sure."

"Are you amenable to penetration?"

"Don't put it like that again, Valentine."

"Should I be lewd instead?"

Running his tongue against the back of his teeth, Cid squinted some. "...Sure, I'm morbidly curious, let's hear it."

Vincent went still, color blossoming in his cheeks. He sucked in a ragged, steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut. Before Cid could tease him about being easily embarrassed, Vincent bent down, brushing his lips against the shell of Cid's ear.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Oh, _shit_ ," Cid breathed, dizzy with how fast the blood rushed south at hearing that deep, rumbly voice speak filth. "Oh fuck."

"Hmm... Problem, Chief?"

"Please, just... yes, do me, right now, fuck."

Shoulders shaking with mirth, Vincent straightened back up, admiring how flustered Cid was. He ran his fingers along Cid's jawline, then down his neck, splaying them over the pulse.

"We are going to revisit that later, I think, Captain Highwind..."

"What."

"Your apparent voice kink."

"I-- dammit. I'm so _fucked_ , aren’t I?"

"Not yet.”

"Ha ha." Cid nudged his knees against Vincent's side, sticking his tongue out. "Well, go on, Mr. Valentine, blow my goddamn mind."

"Now who's being cruel?"

"Sorry."

Vincent tsked, reluctantly bending to accept Cid's chaste apology kiss. "You'll tell me when you're ready?"

"Yeah, 'course."

With a nod, Vincent stepped back, pulling at the handcuffs to make Cid follow. As Cid stood, he felt the trembling echo of the engine's vibration lingering deep in his legs, giving the phantom sensation that his knees were trembling. He was going to be feeling it for a long time after. The thought was not a turn off; he spent most of his life in machinery that rumbled much louder.

Vincent released the cuffs, touching Cid's elbow. "Palms on the hood, please."

Cid turned, putting his palms flat against the hood of the car. He half wished he wasn’t wearing gloves. Very little beat getting handsy with a nice machine. But it was Vincent’s show, so Cid didn’t say anything, relaxing and waiting with his head hanging.

A lean, warm body settled against his back. Vincent reached out to set a bottle of lube and a foil condom packet between Cid's hands. Then he undid Cid's jeans, pushing both jeans and boxers down in one go, all the way down past knees. Claws settled against his hip, loose and prickling but not cutting. Vincent dragged the blunt nails of his other hand over Cid's thigh and up, into blond curls, eliciting a low hiss.

Vincent kissed the side of Cid's neck, tenderly. It was a prelude to the harder, sucking kisses that followed, with the edge of teeth at the end of each. Cid's low protest died halfway as fingers wrapped around his dick, working the sensitive nerves under the head with a twist of the wrist. Vincent lapped at one particularly tender hickey, blowing his breath out over it to make Cid shiver and gasp.

A few moments later, Vincent withdrew. Cid was left erect and wanting, precum dripping freely from the tip of his dick.

"Fuck, don't tease."

"Patience."

Vincent retrieved the condom, tearing it open with a crinkle of the wrapper. Cid lifted his head to look over his shoulder, but couldn't see much besides Vincent's frown of concentration, gaze somewhere south.

"Do you need me to prepare you further?"

"Shoulda joined me for that shower, starshine," Cid quipped. "The whole carwash."

He heard the plastic bottle hit the concrete and roll away. Then Vincent bore down on him, nudging the insides of his elbows to make him bend. Cid lowered himself onto the hood only after feeling whether it was too hot with his arms. He made a long, drawn out, "Oh," noise when his dick made contact with the vibrating metal. Not enough to get off on by any means, but he was completely sold on the idea of being fucked against it.

Vincent pulled back to drag Cid's shirt up, exposing more skin to metal. He planted his hand against the base of Cid's spine, rubbing his thumb above the cleft of his ass. "Ready?"

"Um-hum."

It'd been a long, long time since Cid had anything other than a dildo. Feeling another man grind against his ass, smearing lube against his hole was incredible. Knowing it was Vincent made him relaxed and boneless.

Even though he'd fingered himself a little in the shower earlier, when Vincent first pushed in, there was a little discomfort. Vincent went slow, giving Cid plenty of time to get used to it. Whenever he moved, he rocked shallowly, giving Cid a little more each time.

Discomfort soon gave away to the warm, slow build of pleasure. Cid groaned and shifted, trying to rock back against Vincent but helplessly pinned. He couldn't even grind against the hood, caught between the low rumble and Vincent's torturously gentle pace.

"C'mon, fuckin' give it to me."

Vincent responded by settling more fully over Cid, elbows planted on the hood at either side of him. He stopped thrusting, panting against Cid's shoulder.

"Ya not comin' undone already are ya?"

"Shut up, Highwind," Vincent growled, pulling halfway out and snapping his hips forward.

"Oh _fuck_ , do that again."

Vincent did, making Cid squirm and curse because it wasn't enough. He didn't have long to complain, as Vincent set a steady pace, thrusting just the right side of slow and hard. Vincent seemed intent on drawing it out for as long as possible, dragging out every gasp, every swear, and every moan he could out of Cid, reducing him to drooling bliss on the hood of that car.

When Cid couldn't manage complete words, never mind complete sentences, Vincent picked up the pace, thrusts becoming sloppy as he chased his orgasm. The noises he made were soft and muffled against Cid's shoulder, barely more than gasps. He made more noise scratching those golden claws on the hood when he came, hips stuttering through a few more thrusts.

Cid made a muffled whine, but wasn't left wanting for long. Vincent pulled him up off of the hood, wrapped clumsy fingers around his dick, and jerked him off. He came messily and noisily a minute or two later, spilling all over the sweaty imprint he'd left on the hood of the car.

They pulled apart and sank to sit awkwardly on the cold concrete, leaning shoulder to shoulder while the aftermath washed over them. Vincent slouched, eyes closed, and didn't even manage to remove the condom or pull his pants up for a good five minutes.

"Holy shit," Cid sighed, grinning dopily. "Ya fucked your car up already."

"...Damn."


	55. not alone

Getting all their friends in one place was a challenge. Getting them to do it with less than a week from Tifa’s annual “get Cid totally wasted because he’s OLD” party was a near impossible task. They were busy people, and asking them to make time for more than one party in such a short time frame was equivalent to trying to pick Vincent’s MP Bandera up and carry it all the way to Edge on foot.

That was why Cid made sure to get Tifa in his corner first. She’d been skeptical, of course, since he couldn’t _tell_ her why it was almost, but not quite, a matter of life or death. But she wanted to meet Lucrecia, and it’d been too long since she’d last seen Shera, so she agreed to help Cid rope all of their favorite idiots into coming to Mideel’s strawberry festival. In person, no cheaty robot stand-ins allowed.

The entire guest list ended up so long that the next recruit for planning was Reeve, mainly because he was the only one with enough money and pull to reserve an entire hotel just before a major event like the festival. He’d been confused but appropriately cowed by the threat of Tifa’s impressive muscles and Cid’s sharp tongue.

All told, about twenty guests were expected, and Cid honestly couldn’t remember when he’d gotten so much family. Once upon a time, he’d had nothing but his aunt and his cousins and eventually Shera, and he’d thought himself well off.

“Don’t forget your promise to hightail us outta there if it gets too bad,” Cid joked, thinking of how much _noise_ so many people could make.

Vincent deigned to look up from his book, some new thriller from his favorite author. “Of course, Chief.”

They’d gotten down to Mideel first; Cid flew Vincent, Shera, Lucrecia, his aunt, his cousins, his niece, and his brother-in-law down in one of Highwind Enterprises’ commercial planes. As such, they’d all gotten dibs on rooms. Vincent picked the suite that overlooked the fairgrounds and lounged out on the balcony, reading and watching tents and stalls and rides get set up. Cid hunkered on a nearby seat, squinting at his laptop, going over Tifa’s extensive spreadsheets and detailed plans. It was a damn shame she insisted on barkeeping.

“You seem nervous.”

“‘Course. We gotta tell the fuckin’ crazy sons of bitches that were willin’ to face the end of the world like it was no big goddamn thing that we’re gettin’ _hitched_. They’re gonna lose their goddamn minds, if they ever had any.”

“Don’t worry, we can lose them in the crowds.”

“Ya sure? Ya insisted those fuckin’ Turks oughta be invited... They know your tricks, Mr. Ex-Turk.”

“Elena will let us escape.”

Cid snorted. “Favoritism.”

“Yes.” Vincent closed his book and stood. “I’m going to nap.”

This was, Cid knew, a strong hint, if not an invitation. He grunted, shutting the laptop, and followed Vincent in to sprawl on the bed. It at least had the decency to be a proper size, with not too many quilts or pillows. He reached for Vincent, seeking out the steady thump of his heartbeat underneath the tags.

Their friends arrived bit by bit over the course of the day and into the next morning. Many of them brought unexpected guests-- Barret showed up with Elmyra in tow, others brought friends Cid forgot the names of immediately. Tifa had warned him to expect it, since the event wasn’t a private gathering. He thanked his lucky stars that they had an entire hotel’s worth of rooms to shove people into.

Yuffie was the last one to arrive, loudly declaring, “Saved the best for last!!” as she bowled Vincent and Cid down for hugs.

Introducing AVALANCHE to his flesh and blood at long last was weird, but Aunt Betty looked delighted to finally meet the people that roused her nephew from his depressed stupor, Kat was happy to have other kids to play with, and the other two were starstruck to be rubbing elbows with the heroes of Meteorfall and beyond. Cid endured Tifa’s heckling about keeping secrets with minimal cursing.

Everyone wanted to know what was so damn important that they had to hightail it out to a strawberry festival of all things, but Cid refused to say until _after_ he and Vincent had enjoyed what the festival had to offer. Most of their friends accepted this without too much of a fuss. Most of them.

“Go on, get,” he grouched, making shooing motions at Shelke as she asked, for the tenth time in a row, what he was hiding. “Fair’s openin’ soon, go have some fuckin’ _fun_ , ya lil gremlin.”

She narrowed her eyes and turned towards where Vincent had been standing until less than a minute ago. He’d vanished, perhaps sensing danger. When it came to Shelke, he was horrible at keeping secrets.

Shelke looked at Cid with all the blank-eyed fury a person trapped in a body that was aging very slowly could muster. “This conversation isn’t over,” she said, and then flounced.

Of course the Turks couldn’t be outdone by a former Deepground agent. They lurked at the edge of any conversation Cid found himself caught in, watching him because they couldn’t pin Vincent down long enough to interrogate him instead. Cid managed to avoid them right up until it was time to find Vincent and head out to the festival’s opening ceremony. The bastards played dirty, sending sweet little Elena to catch him by the elbow and pull him aside.

“You don’t strike me as the kind to invite the former president of ShinRa to a podunk country gathering halfway across the world…”

“I didn’t fuckin’ invite him, y’all did,” Cid retorted. “He starts shit, I’m gonna punt his ass to the moon.”

“You’ll have to go through the Turks, of course, Mr. Highwind.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. The hell d’ya want?”

“You and Mr. Valentine have always been close,” Elena mused, adjusting her tie. “I never would have guessed close enough to get him to willingly participate in something like _this_.”

“Listen, girly, if you’re fishin’ for an answer--”

“No, don’t misunderstand me, I’m fairly certain I already know the answer.” She reached out, flicking the dog tags so that they jangled against his chest. “I just wanted to extend my congratulations in private before all hell breaks loose.”

Cid blew out an exasperated breath. “Sorry Vince ain’t here to hear it.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s around.”

Elena wasn’t wrong, either. The minute she wandered off, looking entirely too smug, Vincent materialized from wherever he’d been hiding.

“Left me to the fuckin’ wolves, starshine.”

“Sorry.”

"Sure ya are." Cid grinned, tugging at the edge of Vincent's cloak. "C'mon, let's go listen to some country buffoons and get sick of strawberries."

"I don't believe it's possible to be tired of strawberries."

Most of their guests would do whatever they wanted for the duration of their visit. The announcement would happen over dinner later that night. As long as their core group of friends showed up for that and didn't get them kicked out of Mideel, Cid didn't give one flying fuck what they got up to in the meantime.

He and Vincent headed out to the fairgrounds, joining the small crowd gathered at the stage near the entrance. A chubby, balding man droned on about the momentous occasion, mumbling into his mic while he fumbled with note cards. Aunt Betty waded through the crowd to loop her arm through Cid's, grinning up at the two men. She was accompanied by Darrel, who held Kat's hand to keep her from wandering off.

"Just wanted to say hi 'fore things get hectic," Betty said. "Won't keep ya."

"Sure, Auntie."

She squeezed Cid's arm, then peeled off him to accost Vincent. "Ya keep my boy outta trouble, ya hear?"

"Ah... of course, Mrs. Highwind..."

"Ya stop that now, boy, it's Betty or Auntie to ya too!"

Vincent sighed through his nose, but nodded very slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

Satisfied, and apparently seeing someone else she wanted to harass--namely, Shera and Lucrecia--Aunt Betty sailed off through the crowd. Darrel offered a weak grin at Cid before following her. Kat waved, calling back, "Later, Uncle Cid!"

Cid noticed some of their other friends starting to show up, like Reeve and Nanaki, but he itched to avoid getting held up by more socializing right then. "Let's make our escape, starshine."

"Yes."

The ticket booths were opened, lines already forming. Cid bypassed them by way of already having pre-purchased tickets for the entire group, good for the entire week if they wanted to never eat another strawberry in their entire life. He hoped Vincent didn't intend to make them stay that long.

Like any country fair, the strawberry festival consisted of stages for performances, namely warbling country singers and the occasional talent show; endless rows of food vendors boasting everything one could possibly make with strawberries; vendors selling their personal crafts; pens full of livestock and auction blocks for the sale of said livestock; chocobo stables and a racetrack; lots full of tractors, cars, and planes; game booths with hokey prizes; and carnival rides galore. That early in the day, the grounds weren't too full yet, giving Vincent time to become acclimated to the fairgrounds layout.

"Whatcha wanna do first?"

"Feed me and I'll bankrupt a rigged game for you."

Cid laughed. "Okay, sure."

They made a stop at a stand selling fruit smoothies--not just strawberry, surprisingly enough, though their headliner drinks all involved strawberries as the star. Vincent got a plain strawberry drink, while Cid went with the random Mystery Smoothie, which turned out to be strawberries, pineapple, and weirdly, cherry tomatoes. It wasn't bad. The minute no one was looking, Vincent stole a sip and hummed thoughtfully.

"That is bizarre," Vincent decided. "Which stand should we put out of business?"

"Ya ruin many of these fuckin' things, ya fuckin' Turk?"

Vincent squinted his eyes at Cid, then lifted his golden claw to point out the quadruple threat of suits already assaulting a skeeball stand. Rufus stood off to the side beneath a parasol, watching with something like smug satisfaction. Already a pile of prizes had begun to form near his feet.

"...Almost feel bad for anyone that ain't here first day," Cid said, taking a sip of his smoothie. He glanced around, noting all the different styles of game available. "'Kay, go for the easy one. Rifles. Get ya the most fuckin' obviously rigged one."

"As you wish."

They ended up at a booth practically in the middle of the midway, cleverly placed where it would get the most traffic but also ringed by generous neighbors so as to not draw too much attention to the fact that every single one of the guns had some flaw that made hitting the targets nearly impossible. Vincent passed his smoothie to Cid and spent a few minutes inspecting the guns while the stand owner grinned and rattled off her spiel.

It took Vincent one test round--three shots--to determine the angle of the barrel and to correct his aim for it. He kept putting gil down and winning useless prizes until the stand owner called out, "Okay, okay, I surrender! Please, tell me what prize you're so bent on."

Vincent set the junky rifle down, inspecting the remaining prizes. He glanced over at Cid, raising a brow. Cid shrugged, considering the whole lot of trash. His gaze settled on a box in the far back--a deluxe model of the Highwind, the kind that had a limited run and for some goddamn reason had never been offered to the actual captain of the ship.

"Holy shit, Vince, _look_."

"Ah. That one, then."

"Fuck yeah!"

The stand owner made a pained noise as she gave up what was probably the only valuable item in her stand. Vincent took his smoothie back so Cid could carry the box under his arm, grinning. They left the heap of cheap plushies and souvenirs on the ground in front of the stand.

They meandered along, sometimes stopping to watch their friends having a good time. Tifa broke a high striker game, sending the fragmented chunks of the bell flying and splintering the hammer. Barret hooted while bending to shelter Marlene and Kat from the fallout. Nearby, Cloud and Denzel played against each other on Q Bike machines in the arcade tent. Shelke and Yuffie tried to outdo one another's high scores on various games, laughing and shouting.

Vincent nudged at Cid's shoulder, urging him away from all the noise and flashing lights of the midway. He steered clear of the rides, too.

The livestock lot was quieter, if smellier. They found Nanaki napping lazily near a pen of sheep, his flame-lit tail twitching. The owner of the sheep kept casting worried looks.

"Cid. Vincent." Nanaki opened his eye and stretched, yawning wide. "Can I walk with you a while? I seem to have overstayed my welcome..."

Vincent nodded and Cid just shrugged. "Sure, why not."

The three of them wandered on, eventually reaching the mechanics show. Cid whistled lowly, admiring different machines. Mostly tractors and classic cars, a few farmer's planes. The other Highwinds were around, too, waving and pointing excitedly at some of the flashier cars.

"Shit, we shoulda brought yours, Vince."

"We haven't fixed the paint from my last technological disaster."

Cid snickered, looking away. Just _thinking_ about the car made him a little warm and giddy, nevermind talking about the mishap.

"You have a car?" Nanaki asked.

"Yes, an MP Bandera."

"I assume that is a very nice car..."

"A _damn_ good car," Cid said.

Vincent looked around, then shook his head. "There isn't one here."

"Perhaps you can drive it to Cosmo Canyon and visit one day."

"Mhm."

"Hey, yeah, how's the windmills doin'?" Cid tossed his empty smoothie cup into a nearby recycling bin. "Y'all get that shit finished?"

"Yes. Cosmo Canyon is now completely wind and solar powered. You would have to ask Mr. Shinra about the specifics..."

"Ah, fuck talkin' to that kid..."

"He is not so bad now that he has-- how did you put it? Removed his head from his rear,” Nanaki said, grinning wolfishly. “Thank you for walking with me.” With a flick of his tail, he bounded away, loping off towards the chocobo race track.

“Should we be concerned about the birds?”

“Iunno. Kinda wanna call Spike up and see if I can get him to race me.”

“You should.”

Grinning, Cid dug his phone out to text Cloud. {Chocobo racing, you in?}

{Let me ditch the kids,} was the reply not thirty seconds later, as Cid and Vincent continued onwards.

Although they didn’t bring their own birds, guests were invited to rent some to participate in the races. Flyers advertising that Joe himself was there suggested that visitors that managed to beat him would win lucrative prizes. Cid passed his model airship to Vincent, planted a kiss on his cheek, and went to register. Cloud showed up just in time to join the same race, eyes aglow with fierce competitive glee.

They were given their choice of birds from the stables. Cid and Cloud walked together, peering into the stalls.

“This one’s fucked,” Cid decided, squinting at a yellow one whose feathers were _almost_ dark enough to be mistaken for gold. It had a slight hitch in its stride as it came up to investigate its visitors.

“There’s a couple of blues further down, but they seem nervous.”

One by one, they inspected and rejected the birds. Ultimately, Cloud settled on the least nervous of the two blues, taking as much time before the race to talk to it in soothing tones.

Cid found the devil herself in one of the last stalls, burrowed under a heap of hay under dim, flickering lights. She glared with one good eye over a huge, cracked beak. But she came out when he called, and she grudgingly accepted his offering of greens, though she narrowly missed taking a finger in the process.

"Holy crap, Cid," Cloud said, gaping. " _That's_ your choice?"

"Yeah, 'course, us old fuckers gotta stick together."

She about tore Cid's head off when he tried to saddle her. A swift punch to her side cowed her enough for cooperation. He marched her out into the light and tilted his head, frowning this way and that. Her feathers were faded enough with age that it was impossible to tell what color she was. Some kind of yellow, probably.

Hushed whispers from the stable hands followed them out as they got into starting stalls.

As advertised, Joe and his black chocobo waited in the 1st place stall. On spotting them, he said, "Oh... It's you guys. Didn't you retire?"

"Special circumstances," Cloud answered, patting at his bird to calm it.

"Where's that cute girl? The one that used to outrace you both..."

Cid scoffed loudly, which made his bird fluff up, chomping at the bit. Cloud just shrugged, craning around to point her out in the crowd. She, Barret, and all the kids waved and cheered loudly at his wave. Vincent sat nearby, wrapped up in his cloak with his face mostly hidden by his mantle.

"A shame," Joe sighed. "This will be too easy."

"Why, 'cuz y'all fuckin' rigged it with shitty birds?"

"Hardly."

“Well,” Cloud said, “Maybe she’ll be by to kick your ass later.”

The announcer called out that the race would be starting soon. Other racers got situated in their stalls, ducking down in preparation.

"Three... two... one..."

With a loud bang, the stalls burst open. The birds shot off, bumping into one another in the mad scramble for a lead. Teioh and Joe pulled ahead, but Cloud was right on their tail. Cid fought his bird, struggling to keep her attacking the others. Because of that, they fell to the rear of the pack.

Then he saw it, an opening that gave a straight shot to the front. Hunkering down against the bird's back, he growled, "Alright, ya nasty fuck, _go_!" and let her have her lead with a sharp kick.

She let out a shriek, "WAAAARK!"

Her front practically tucked the ground as she leaned forward, tattered wings spread. Her strides became bounding, ground-eating things. In the blink of an eye, she shot past most of the pack, snapping at any birds that came too close.

Joe looked flabbergasted, about falling off his bird, when they shot by like Teioh was out for a lovely stroll instead of going as hard as it could. Cloud let out a whoop of delight, letting up on his bird as it flagged, beginning to foam at the beak.

The devil herself didn't know how to stop. She snapped the finish line ribbon and kept on going, looping around the track again and again. As the other racers got off the track, the race organizers tried in vain to catch and stop her. Cid just hung on for dear life, figuring it safer than putting up a fight.

Eventually, she ran herself out, or spooked, or both. She skidded to a stop in front of Vincent, who stood in the middle of the track, cape flapping in the wind, stony-faced and unfazed by the very real risk of being pecked or kicked to death.

"That's mine," he told the bird.

She clacked and chortled at Vincent, shying away, but the fight was gone. Cid slid from her back onto shaky legs, then shot Vincent a big ass grin.

"Get a load of this fuckin' lady! Got a hell of a lotta fight in her!"

"The prizes for winning includes the option of any bird you want."

"Fuck, we need a stable back home." Cid patted at the bird. She bumped her beak against his fingers warningly, but did not try to bite. "D'ya care if I keep birds?"

"If they can stand Galian Beast, then no."

"Awesome. C'mon, She Devil, let's go get our fuckin' just rewards!"

The prize pool apparently included his choice of cash, a gift voucher for a sizable discount on a car from a local dealership, a year's worth of Chocobo greens, a personal training course with Joe, or, of course, his pick of birds. Cid never even doubted his choice, grinning like a loon as the She Devil took to nibbling at his hair.

He got a cheap little trophy, the title to the chocobo, and his photograph taken with Joe and the winning bird. For that last, Cid made sure to drag Vincent over, throwing his arm around the taller man's shoulder to keep him from wisping away.

The She Devil got taken away to rest in her stall until arrangements could be made to ship her back to Rocket Town. After Cid filled out all the appropriate paperwork, he checked the Chocobo title and found that her original name was Fatali.

"Fuckin'... dramatic as shit. Fatali the She Devil."

Cid shoved the title into his pocket, producing cigarette and lighter. He needed the nicotine, as the minute that he and Vincent left the office trailer behind the stables, most of their friends accosted them, shouting congratulations. Cloud slapped Cid on the shoulder several times, marveling that he was still alive and actually wanted to _keep_ the damn bird.

“Hey, hey, hey, let an ol’ fucker enjoy his cigarette in peace, ya fuckin’ whippersnappers! Go enjoy the damn festival.”

Laughing, the gang split up, off to terrorize someone else. Vincent took the cigarette when Cid offered it, taking a long drag.

“Whatcha wanna do now, starshine?”

“Something quiet.”

They ended up going to get an early lunch of grilled chicken kebabs and salads loaded with nuts and strawberries, taking it out to the hill that overlooked one of the side stages. No one performed while they ate, which meant they had the hill mostly to themselves. Vincent leaned against Cid’s side, that glassy, distant look fading some as he watched people enjoying themselves an acceptable distance away.

“So, how’s it, havin’ fun?”

“This is… exactly as promised,” Vincent allowed, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

Once Vincent felt up to dealing with crowds and noise again, they wandered down to investigate food stalls, purchasing snacks for later. Dried strawberries, preserves, miniature pies, loose leaf teas, and more ended up in bags split between the two of them.

Then they joined Shera and Lucrecia for browsing the crafts vendors, admiring kitschy knick knacks, homemade quilts, jewelry, and other sundry items. The two ladies purchased more than a few household items, such as potholders with smiling strawberries on them, casting sidelong looks at Vincent and Cid in the process.

"Think they're schemin', starshine," Cid stage whispered, when they were out of earshot.

"The result can't be good," Vincent whispered back, in agreement. "Should we slip away?"

"Yeah, definitely."

Because Vincent was always the one to beg off and take a hit to his mysterious persona, Cid decided to take pity on him. When Shera came over to check on them, Cid rubbed his forehead.

"I ain't feelin' too hot. Probs a migraine comin' on."

"Aww, captain, you should go rest!" Shera patted consolingly at his arm. "I don't suppose I can borrow Vincent for a little while..."

She gave Vincent a meaningful look, one that seemed to fly right over his head at first, as he just blinked slowly.

"Up to ya, Vince."

With a quiet sigh, Vincent handed over his bags. "Only for a few minutes. Someone will need to make sure Cid rests up."

"Yay! Okay, captain, take care getting back to the hotel!"

Amused that his gambit only partially worked, Cid watched Vincent get dragged off further down the rows of vendors. With a shake of his head, Cid turned away and headed off towards the exit. He hoped Vincent wouldn't be kept prisoner too long. A nice nap before the evening's fuckarow sounded like just the ticket.

He was not the only one of their party to return to the hotel. Reeve lifted a glass of something bubbly in greeting from one of the shaded tables on the patio out front. Cid hesitated only a moment before veering over, dumping the bags on the ground so he could take the unoccupied chair across from Reeve.

"Hello, Cid Highwind."

"Didn't see ya at the festival."

"Oh, Cait is somewhere out there enjoying it on my behalf." Reeve shrugged a shoulder, smiling into his drink. "What can I do for you?"

"Yanno anything 'bout Shinra's alternative energy shit?"

"Some. The WRO has been hired on occasion to help construction on projects. As I understand it, Cosmo Canyon is well on its way to success..."

"Yeah, how do they do when the weather's shit?"

"That is the sticking point, isn't it? Rufus seems quite nervous about the upcoming rainy season..."

Cid propped his elbows on the table, chin in one hand. A waitress wandered over, offering glasses of iced water. He accepted one, and when asked, "Would you like anything else, sir?", he ordered iced tea. It was too hot and humid to deal with hot tea, though his brain kept insisting it was winter and warm drinks were the answer to all life's problems.

"They don't fuckin' make batteries big 'nough to store that much power yet, not without energy drain."

"A problem that is still being worked out." Reeve took a sip of his drink. "I assume you're asking after this because you have an interest in the work..."

"Maybe. 'Nother thing that's been stickin' me-- oil ain't gonna last, neither is coal. They both got their problems, needlin' at the planet."

"Yes."

"Means pretty soon, we ain't gonna be drivin' nothin'. Cars, planes, fuckin' tractors... it's all gonna be dead rustin' metal, if we ain't come up with somethin' else."

"Would you like me to collect a list of contacts who might share your interest in the future of energy, Cid?"

"Fuck yeah, that'd be great."

The waitress brought out a tall glass of pale, watery tea, ice cubes clinking. Reeve waited until she'd gone before saying, "You realize, of course, that you will have to feign politeness to Rufus if you are serious about this."

"Pssht, I can be fuckin' polite."

Cid took a sip of the tea, then made a face. Not only did it have no flavor, it had no sugar, honey, or _anything_ in it. He nudged the glass away.

"Ah, of course. Forgive me for doubting." Reeve leaned to the side, smiling brightly. "Hello, Vincent Valentine."

"Reeve."

Twisting around in his chair, Cid grinned at Vincent. "Heya, Vince." He glanced down, noting the large, bulky bag the other man carried. "Got bullied into gettin' somethin' by the ladies?"

"Something like that." Vincent glanced between Cid and Reeve. "Do you mind if I kidnap Highwind? He is supposed to be resting..."

"By all means. I'll see you both tonight. Perhaps we can continue our conversation later, Cid, while our mutual friend is available."

"Yeah, alright."

With Vincent's help, Cid gathered up their purchases and trundled off to their suite. Vincent gave him a considering look in the elevator, but didn't ask what he and Reeve had been discussing. Cid let it lie for now, intending to talk about it later, when he wasn't feeling simultaneously tired from their excursion and wired because of the upcoming dinner.

They dumped most of the bags in the closet, and stored the perishables in the mini fridge by the counter. Vincent held his bulky bag out to Cid.

"Here. Shera suggested I should wait, but I already received gifts beyond number, so I see no reason for it."

Blinking and half-smiling, Cid peered into the bag. Some sort of cloth, blue with flecks of yellow, was the first thing he noted. He pulled it out, setting it on the end of the bed. It was a quilt made up of all kinds of different shades of dark blues in a myriad of interesting patterns. The yellow patches were stars, in a number of shapes and designs, and they appeared to be in some kind of spiral formation. It took him a second to realize it was the golden spiral.

"Woah."

Cid unfolded it carefully and found that it'd been wrapped around a large picture frame. He turned the frame over to reveal a painting made up of small strokes of vivid color--blues and purples juxtaposed with yellow, orange, and black. The scene was Junon's coast as he remembered from his childhood, the stars just visible on the horizon telling him that it'd been painted in the early spring.

The signature in the corner read T. Highwind. Cid stared at it, feeling reality sliding away, becoming small and insignificant. He could practically smell the salt in the air, hear his father’s voice patiently explaining that the constellation represented a school of fish, and being born under it meant that Cid would always strive to persevere, no matter how the flow of time pushed back at him. That he would be kind to those in his wake, helping them to overcome their own obstacles.

"Shit," Cid muttered, swallowing thickly.

"Alright, Chief?"

"Fuck. Yeah, I'm good. This is great, thanks."

With shaking hands, he wrapped the painting back up in the quilt, returning it to the bag. Only after he'd put it away in the closet did he come back to drag Vincent down onto the bed for sloppy kisses. Vincent wiped Cid's damp cheeks gently, but didn't call further attention to it.

"You'll have to thank Shera for spotting it... With less enthusiasm, I hope."

"Ha ha." Cid squeezed at Vincent's middle, shifting around to get more comfortable. "My aunt is gonna shriek. You'll prolly wanna vacate the planet when I show it to her."

"Who was this T. Highwind?"

"My dad."

"Ah..." Vincent ran his hand down Cid's back. "You had a better relationship with your father than I did, I hope?"

"Yeah. My parents were fuckin' awesome, before they died..."

"Hmm."

Cid glanced over to see red eyes closed. Vincent's breathing evened out as he chose sleep over continuing the overly emotional conversation. Grinning, Cid nuzzled close, relaxing into sleep himself.

That evening, Cid oversaw the final preparations for dinner while smoking his way through half a pack of cigarettes. Hotel staff scurried about the banquet hall, sometimes casting worried glances at Cid as if they expected him to spontaneously combust. He sure felt like he might, with nerves singing down his arms, making his fingers tremble and his stomach a tight knot.

Vincent materialized at Cid's shoulder, startling some of the staff in the process. He settled his gold claw against Cid's back, leaning towards him. "Alright, Chief?"

"Uhh. Ask again when we've managed to tell the gang."

"Let's get some fresh air."

"Sure."

The hotel was near a botanical garden, the kind that was open to the public at all hours. Walking with Vincent along neat paths through pretty flowers seemed surreal, but at least the plants weren't all yellow. Vincent never slowed to look at much, as though driven purely by purpose and not to be distracted by the beauty all around him. Cid relaxed as they walked, letting the tension go from his shoulders.

By the time they went back, the banquet hall was ready and their guests had already begun to file in, taking their places. Vincent nudged Cid's shoulder, meeting his gaze. They were equally nervous, though Vincent's face remained as stoic as ever. Cid grinned sheepishly and nudged back. Together, they went to take their seats at the center of the largest banquet table, where the core group and their family were to be seated.

Shera sat on Cid's right, Lucrecia at Vincent's left. Directly across from them were the Highwinds, and then everybody else from AVALANCHE filled in the rest of the chairs. The Turks and Shinra sat down at the far left end, opposite of Cloud, Tifa, and Barret's family.

The wait staff trotted carts of drinks and appetizers out, making the rounds through all the tables. Cid waited until they'd departed before standing up, rapping his knuckles against the table to get everyone's attention. Twenty-four pairs of eyes turned towards him, plus all the extras at the other tables he didn't know.

"Uh, y'all been wonderin' what the fuck this s'all 'bout. I ain't much for speeches 'less it's right before we go kick some ass." Cid cleared his throat, smiling crookedly at the laughter. "Well. My crushin' on Valentine's always been the worst kept secret this side of Midgar's ruins..."

Vincent's eyes crinkled at the corners as Cid met his gaze. He flicked his claws in a _go on_ , gesture, but the words escaped Cid. Everyone was watching and waiting for him to spit it out, but his throat closed up entirely.

With a quiet, fond sigh, Vincent stood, flicking one gold talon against Cid's dog tags. He faced their friends, glancing up and down the table. "Try to contain yourselves, but I've staked my claim on Cid Highwind."

"They're getting married!" Yuffie whooped into the stunned silence that followed. 

Cid's family, Shera, and Lucrecia cheered, clapping and raising their glasses, and all hell broke out after that. The group let out a cacophony of noise in the form of shouted congratulations, whoops of delight, admonishments that it was "about time", and well-wishes.

Tifa darted from her seat in order to get both Cid and Vincent in a headlock, one under each arm, beaming fit to burst. "When's the wedding?" she demanded, after she'd let them go.

This was the question of the night. Cid shrugged, glancing at Vincent, who shrugged back.

"Letcha know when we know."

"At the pace you two go, you'll be getting married on your deathbed right before you die of old age, Cid," Tifa accused, jabbing him in the chest with her forefinger.

"Here's hopin' he puts up with me that long." Cid grinned, rubbing at the sore spot.

Vincent caught Cid's hand, bringing it up to his lips to brush a kiss against knuckles. "Until forever ends, Cid Highwind."

Cid felt his face heating up at the chorus of catcalls. "Ah, hell." He pushed his fingers along Vincent's cheek, brushing dark hair back behind an ear.

"Oh, _Gaia_ ," Tifa said, fanning herself and laughing.

With a huff, Cid let his hand drop and turned back to the table, clapping his hands once. "Alright, ya fucks, enough gawpin', let's eat!"

The hotel staff kept the drinks and food coming all night. Cid and Vincent put up with an endless parade of their friends coming over to congratulate them and needle them on their future. Cid bore it with as much grace as he did anything, though being asked again and again when the wedding would be got to grating on his nerves something fierce as the night went on. Vincent patted at his knee beneath the table, gazing distantly off to the side and refusing to say anything on the subject.

After the main course, Cloud and Tifa took to the dance floor, doing an energetic jitterbug. That invited others to join; Shera and Lucrecia spun gracefully around one another, Barret tossed Marlene and caught her; even Nanaki with his paws propped awkwardly on Yuffie's shoulders, grinning as he badly imitated his human friends.

Cid downed what was probably one too many glasses of champagne, leaning against Vincent's side. He felt droopy and happy, the lights gone soft and blurry. Neither of them wanted to dance and that was just fine.

Reeve slid into the empty seat at Cid's right, and Rufus sat across from them, adjusting the lapels of his suit.

"I suppose congratulations are in order, Captain Highwind," Shinra said, extending his hand across the table.

"Thanks, I guess," Cid said, but didn't take Rufus's hand.

"Commissioner Tuesti tells me you've expressed an interest in ShinRa's latest projects..."

"I ain't workin' for ya, if that's what you're leadin' into."

"Cid?" Vincent asked, but said nothing else, only raising his brows as he glanced between Cid, Reeve, and Rufus.

"Oh, no." Rufus toyed with an empty wine glass, running his fingers along the stem. "At best, I assumed a partnership, or perhaps a sponsorship. The world could use a man of your intellect and drive working out the next step to preserve our little planet..."

"Uh-huh. This gonna go like the space project? Get bored with it and slash it, leave my ass out to hang?"

"No, that was... regrettable. Had my father persisted, we might have resources from already dead planets at our disposal..." Rufus frowned down at the glass, laying his palms flat on the table at either side of it. "But as it stands, this rock is all we have, and I'm sure we can both agree that drilling is harmful regardless of the goals."

"If it helps, Cid, I am willing to act as a mediator and pick up any slack through the WRO," Reeve offered.

"Might just," Cid allowed with a thoughtful nod. "So what's your offer?"

"I will provide you with funding if you will do the legwork. At present, all those interested in alternative energy are... quite scattered and not interested in gathering in one place. It will take a fair bit of globetrotting to set up a network of professionals and to act upon their ideas." Rufus twisted in his chair, watching the Turks out on the dance floor. "My Turks have done well so far, but mechanical engineering and social niceties are obviously not their forte..."

"Hah. Bein' nice ain't my fuckin' forte either, Shinra."

"No, but you have a knack for inspiring people to follow you."

"So ya want me runnin' all over doin' ya errands."

"No, I want you pursuing your goals so long as they align with the safety of the planet."

Cid looked over at Vincent, who squeezed his knee before gently extricating himself. He inclined his head silently, then swept away in a swirl of red.

"...Draw the shit up and we'll negotiate sometime, Shinra. I want the WRO's involvement to keep this shit on the up and up."

He rose from his chair a little unsteadily, saluted the both of them, and then went after Vincent. The man fled upstairs, all the way to the rooftop. Cid found him perched on the edge, poised as if to flee into the dark, starlit night.

"Hey, starshine."

Vincent looked over his shoulder. "Chief."

"Ya okay?"

"What was that... downstairs, with Shinra."

Cid approached Vincent slowly, keeping some distance between them as he propped his hip against the railing along the edge of the roof. He folded his arms, looking out over the glittering city lights.

"Ya told me to figure out what I wanted to do with myself, right?"

"Yes."

"Well... I been doin' a lot of readin', yanno. Seems like the world needs a lil help figurin' out this alternate energy shit to make a go of it."

"So you will go."

"Yeah, sure. Figured ya wouldn't wanna stay in one place all the time neither."

Vincent sat back on his heels, face tucked into his mantle. The fall of his hair hid his expression from Cid, but the line of his shoulders was tense to the point of trembling.

“I ain't much of a settlin’ man, Valentine. That gonna be okay with ya?”

Vincent shifted towards Cid, raising his head. A guarded look crept onto Vincent’s face, as cold and pale as the wintry days they’d left behind. He stared at Cid, then through him, unfocusing and unraveling in the span of a single breath.

“Is that so?” he said, distant.

“Yeah, starshine.” The nickname brought a little sharp clarity back to red eyes, though it was wary. Cid stepped close, splaying his hand over the dog tags and the skittish beat of a heart that couldn't take any more betrayal. “The only home I’ll ever need is right here.”


End file.
